B428^e  . 


Leni  Leoti 

OR, 

AMNTURES  IN  W  FAB  WESl 

BY 

Emeesoit  Eeititett. 


PHILACELP  HTA : 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS: 

306   CHESTNUT  STREET. 


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in  2015 


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Lkni  Leoti 


OE, 


ADVENTURES  IN  THE  FAR  WEST. 


A 

SEQUEL  TO  "THE  PRAIRIE  FLOWEr 


BY  EMERSON  BENNETT. 

AUTHOR  OF  "  PRAIRIE  FLOWER,"  "  CLARA  MORELAND,"  "  BRIDE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS," 
"KATE  CLARENDON,"   "THE  BORDER  ROVER,"  "HEIRESS  OF  BELLEFONTE," 
"the  PHANTOM  OF  THE   FOREST,"    "THE  PIONEER's  DAUGHTER," 
*' VIOLA,"  "the  forged   WILL,"   "  ELLEN  NORBURY." 


"  Leni  Leoti,"  by  Emerson  Bennett,  is  a  remarkable  book.  It  is  brimful  of  life, 
love,  passion,  sentiment,  humor  and  pathos  ;  and  its  glowing  descriptions,  romantic 
incidents,  daring  adventures,  fearful  perils,  thrilling  exploits,  dreadful  accidents,  and 
hairbreadth  escapes — all  run  through  and  interweave  with  it  a  deep,  ingenious  and  intri- 
cate plot.  The  scene  is  on  and  over  the  broad  prairies  and  Rocky  Mountains  of  the 
mighty  West,  before  the  conquering  tread  of  civilization  had  entered  upon  their  vast 
solittides,  when  roving  tribes  of  Indians,  and  a  few  half-civilized  hunters  and  trappers, 
traversed  the  lonely  region,  literally  carrying  their  lives  in  their  hands.  We  feel  no 
hesitation  in  placing  Mr.  Bennett  among  the  best  writers,  taken  all  in  all,  of  any  in  this 
country  in  the  particular  field  of  literature  which  he  has  chosen.  In  all  that  he  whites 
there  seems  to  be  an  irresistible  charm,  holding  the  reader  spellbound  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.  B.  PET&RSON  &  BROTHERS; 
306  CHESTNUT  STKEET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1889,  by 
EMERSON  BENNETT, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C. 
[all  rights  reserved.] 


"The  Prairie  Flower"  and  its  sequel  "  Leni  Leoti,"  by  Emerson 
Bennett,  are  indeed  remarkable  books,  and  they  contain  all  the  elements 
for  present  popularity  and  enduring  fame.  They  are  brim-full  of  life,  love, 
passion,  sentiment,  humor  and  pathos ;  and  their  glowing  descriptions, 
romantic  incidents,  daring  adventures,  fearful  perils,  thrilling  exploits, 
dreadful  accidents,  and  hair-breadth  escapes — all  run  through  and  in- 
terweave with  a  deep,  ingenious  and  intricate  plot.  The  scene  is  on  and 
over  the  Broad  Prairies  and  Rocky  Mountains  of  the  Mighty  West, 
before  the  conquering  tread  of  civilization  had  entered  upon  their  vast 
solitudes,  when  roving  tribes  of  Indians,  and  a  few  half-civilized  hunters 
and  trappers,  traversed  the  lonely  region,  literally  carrying  their  lives  in 
their  hands. 

We  feel  no  hesitation  in  placing  Mr.  Bennett  among  the  foremost  of 
American  writers.  Of  course  we  do  not  include  metaphysics,  nor  history, 
nor  philosophy  (although  it  must  be  confessed  that  his  writings  prove  his 
perfect  familiarity  with  each),  but  we  mean  that  he  is  the  best  writer,  taken 
all  in  all,  of  any  in  this  country  in  the  particular  field  of  literature  which 
he  has  chosen.  There  are  doubtless  many  writers  who  excel  him  in  some 
minor  points — but,  taken  as  a  whole,  his  works  are  unrivalled. 

In  all  that  he  writes  there  seems  to  be  an  irresistible  charm,  holding 
the  reader  spell-bound  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  That  this  gift  is 
natural  and  not  acquired,  we  assume  from  reading  some  of  his  earlier 
productions.  We  well  remember  the  eagerness  with  which  "  The  Prairie 
Flower  "  and  "  Leni  Leoti,"  were  sought  after  and  devoured  upon  their  first 
appearance.  Everybody  read  them — everybody  talked  about  them — and, 
for  a  time,  not  to  have  seen  or  not  to  have  read  "  The  Prairie  Flower," 
and  "  Leni  Leoti,"  was  to  acknowledge  yourself  guilty  of  unpardonable 
ignorance. 

As  a  proof  of  the  public  appreciation  of  **  The  Prairie  Flower,"  and 
*♦  Leni  Leoti,"  we  have  only  to  state  that  over  100,000  copies  of  each  book, 
of  the  original  octavo  edition,  were  sold,  and  that  both  works  having  long 
been  out  of  print,  the  Publishers  now  present  this  new,  handsome  and 
cheap  edition,  of  both  works.  * 


CONTENTS. 


CHAFTBR  »AC« 

I.  Keeping  My  Secret   21 

1            II.  Resolve  to  Seek  My  Friend  •   25 

III.  The  Sad  Farewells   33 

IV.  Our  Perils  Begin   41 

V.  A  French  and  Irish  Quarrel   50 

^             VI.  A  Good  Joke  and  a  Dismal  Night   58 

VII.  The  Old  Trapper  Again   66 

VIII.  Trapping  and  a  Stampede   73 

IX.  Camp  Stories  and  the  Attack   82 

X.  A  Desperate  Fight  with  Indians                                 . .  96 

XI.  Gain  Tidings  of  My  Friend   104 

XII.  The  Joyful  Meeting  with  My  Friend    11 1 

XIII.  A  Strange  Surmise   124 

XIV.  Illness  and  Death  of  Great  Medicine   131 

XV.  The  Legacy  of  Prairie  Flower   140 

XVI.  A  Joyful  Reunion   150 

XVII.  They  Meet  at  Last   159 

XVIII.  The  Long  Lost  Found   166 

XIX.  Mother  and  Daughter   171 

XX.  Unravelling  a  Mystery   179 

XXI.  Planning  for  the  Future   191 

XXII.  Final  Departure   197 

XXIII.  Farewell  to  the  Mysterious  Tribe   201 

XXIV.  The  Prairie  on  Fire   211 

XXV.  Painful  Suspense,  Gloom  and  Dread   219 

XXVI.  Home  at  Last   226 

XXVII.  The  Closing  Scenes   232 


LENI  LEOTI 


CHAPTER  I. 
•KEEPING  MY  SECRET. 

"T  was  the  first  day  of  June,  in  the  year  of  our 
Lord  1843.  Already  the  earth  felt  the  genial 
air  of  summer,  and  looked  as  smiling  as  a  gay 
maiden  in  her  teens.  The  blade  had  covered 
the  ground  with  a  carpet  of  matchless  green  ; 
amid  which,  their  lovely  faces  half  concealed,  bright 
flowers  of  a  hundred  varieties  peeped  modestly  forth,  to 
render  the  landscape  enchanting,  giving  their  sweet 
breath  to  a  southern  breeze  that  softly  stole  over  them. 
The  trees  in  every  direction  were  in  full  foliage,  and 
already  among  them  could  be  seen  green  bunches  of 
embryo  fruits.  It  was  in  fact  a  delightful  day,  a  delight- 
ful season  of  the  year,  and  a  delightful  scene  upon  which 
I  gazed,  with  feelings,  alas  !  that  had  more  in  them  of 
sadness  than  joy. 

I  was  still  in  Oregon  City  ;  yet  two  months  had  flown 
since  on  the  banks  of  the  romantic  Willamette  I  had 
oifered  my  hand,  heart  and  fortune  to  Lilian  Huntly, 
and  had  been  by  her  accepted,  only  to  find  the  nuptial 
day  prolonged  to  an  indefinite  period — the  return  of  my 
friend  and  her  brother. 

I  did  not  describe  my  feelings  then  to  the  reader,  but 
they  had  really  been  very  painful.  I  had  deceived  Lilian 
and  her  mother,  I  knew,  in  leading  them  to  hope,  even, 
for  the  return  of  Charles  Huntly  ;  and  I  felt  stung  to 
the  very  soul  as  one  guilty  of  a  crime. 


22 


KEEPING   MY  SECRET. 


What  should  I  do  ?  had  often  since  been  my  mental 
question.  Should  I  avow  all  to  Lilian  and  make  her 
wretched  by  destroying  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  Charles 
again  ?  or  should  I  still  let  her  remain  in  blissful  igno- 
rance of  his  fate,  and  look  in  vain  to  the  future  for  the  con- 
summation of  her  ardent  wishes  ?  It  was  a  painful  dilem- 
ma. The  first  was  the  most  open,  upright  and  straightfor- 
ward manner  of  settling  the  matter,  most  undoubtedly  ; 
and  conscience  and  a  first  impulse  had  urged  me  to  it  ;  but 
then  a  doubt  in  my  own  mind  that  he  was  really  dead — a 
faint,  a  very  faint  hope  that  he  might  sometime  return  to 
his  friends — a  loathing  to  inflict  a  wound  upon  the  affec- 
tionate heart  I  loved,  which  time  alone  could  heal — per- 
haps cause  needless  suffering  to  one  who  had  already 
suffered  enough — had  restrained  me ;  and  between  a 
desire  to  do  right,  and  a  fear  to  do  wrong,  I  had  done 
nothing  but  muse  abstractedly, 

Thus  days  had  rolled  on,  one  after  another,  and  the 
end  of  May  had  found  me  as  undecided  as  ever  ;  and 
though  daily  basking  in  the  smiles  of  Lilian,  and  listen-  * 
ing  to  her  artless  words  of  musical  sweetness,  not  even  a 
hint  had  I  ever  thrown  out  regarding  what  I  knew  of  her 
brother. 

Often  had  she  mentioned  him,  but  always  in  a  way  to 
denote  she  scarcely  had  a  doubt  of  seeing  him  the  com- 
ing summer  ;  and  the  thought  that  she  must  be  disap- 
pointed, had  tended  to  make  me  sad  and  melancholy. 

At  last  I  resolved  to  tell  her  all  ;  and  for  this  purpose 
I  invited  her  one  morning  to  our  usual  stroll  on  the 
banks  of  the  Willamette. 

The  day  was  fine,  and  everything  around  beauti- 
ful. 

We  took  our  way  directly  to  the  falls,  and  paused 
upon  a  bluff  immediately  over  the  rolling,  sparkling 
waters. 

This  bluff,  which  is  the  bank  of  the  stream  at  Oregon 
City,  varies  from  twenty  to  eighty  feet  in  height,  and, 
running  back,  forms  the  level  upon  which  the  town  was 
then  just  beginning  to  be  laid  out. 

The  scene  was  charming,  notwithstanding  it  was  in 
the  wilderness.    A  beautiful  forest  stretched  away  on 


KEEPING   MY  SECRET. 


23 


either  hand  ;  below  us  rolled  the  river,  roaring  over  the 
falls  ;  and  on  the  opposite  side  rose  similar  bluffs, 
and  another  pleasant  forest.  It  seemed  a  place  fitted  for 
the  communion  of  lovers,  and  here  Lalian  and  I  had 
whiled  away  our  happiest  hours.  Here  I  had  offered  her 
my  hand,  here  I  had  been  accepted,  and  of  course  the 
scene  could  not  but  recall  pleasant  associations. 

Hither  then  we  strayed  ;  and  as  we  paused  above  the 
bright  river,  Lilian  exclaimed,  with  a  look  of  joy  : 

"  Oh,  it  will  be  so  delightful  when  Charles  joins 
us  !    Do  you  know  what  I  have  determined  on,  Frank  ?" 

"  Surely  not,"  I  answered. 

"  Do  you  see  that  level  yonder  (pointing  down  the 
stream),  which  sets  off  so  pleasantly  below  this,  shaded 
by  those  tall,  old  trees  ?" 

"  Ay,  I  see,  Lilian." 

"  Well,  there  I  have  planned  having  such  a  picnic,  on 
the  day  when — when  we — " 

'  She  paused  and  blushed,  and  glanced  timidly  at  me, 
as  if  expecting  I  would  complete  the  sentence. 

I  did  not,  for  my  mind  was  busy  with  sad  thoughts. 

"Nvow,"  thought  T,  "is  the  time  to  tell  her  all." 

But  how  should  I  begin  to  pain  her? 

I  was  uneasy,  and  felt  miserable,  and  doubtless  looked 
as  I  felt,  for  the  next  moment  she  exclaimed,  in  some 
alarm  : 

"  Why,  Francis,  what  is  the  matter  ?    You  look  so 
pale  !    Has  anything  happened  ?" 
"  Nothing  new." 

"  What  then  ?  You  always  look  so  pained  when  I 
allude  to  brother  Charles  !  Surely  there  must  be  some 
cause !  Have  you  kept  anything  hidden  from  me  ? 
Speak,  Francis  !  You  left  him  well,  did  you  not  ?"  and 
she  grasped  my  arm,  and  looked  earnestly  in  my  face. 

"I  did,  Lilian." 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  You  must  have  no  secrets  from 
me  now,  you  know  " 

I  would  have  to  tell  her,  I  thought,  and  there  could 
never  be  a  better  time  than  this. 

"  Lilian,"  I  began,  and  my  voice  trembled  as  I  spoke  : 
"  Lilian,  I—" 


24 


KEEPING   MY  SECRET. 


"  What  ho,  my  lovers !  are  you  here  ?"  shouted  a 
merry  voice.  I  thought  I  should  find  you  here  ;"  and 
the  next  moment  we  were  joined  by  the  gay,  light- 
hearted  Eva  Mortimer.  "  In  the  name  of  humanity,"  she 
said,  as  she  came  bounding  up  to  us,  "  what  makes  you 
both  look  so  pale  ?  Not  making  love  again,  I  hope  !"  and 
she  ended  with  a  ringing  laugh,  which,  however  pleasant 
it  might  have  sounded  at  another  time,  now  jarred  most 
discordantly  with  the  feelings  of  both. 

"  No,  not  exactly  making  love,  Miss  Mortimer,"  I 
answered,  turning  to  her  with  a  forced  smile,  and,  if 
truth  must  be  owned,  rather  rejoiced  than  otherwise  that 
she  had  broken  off  what  must  have  proved  a  painful 
interview.  . 

"  Well,"  she  rejoined,  playfully,  brushing  back  her 
dark  ringlets  with  one  of  the  prettiest,  white,  dimpled 
hands  in  the  world,  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  that ;  for  I  feared, 
from  your  sober  looks,  you  were  either  getting  into  a 
lover's  quarrel,  or  going  over  a  nameless  scene  that  was* 
enacted  here  some  weeks  ago  ;"  and  she  looked  mean- 
ingly, first  at  Lilian,  who  colored  deeply,  and  then  at  me, 
who  I  fancied  stood  it  like  a  philosopher.  ''Come,"  she 
added,  in  the  same  gay  tone,  "I  have  use  for  you  both  all 
day.  We — that  is  I,  and  my  good  mother,  and  yours, 
Lilian,  and  some  others — have  decided  on  going  to  see  a 
beautiful  lake,  which,  we  are  told,  ornaments  a  certain 
fern  bluff  that  you  see  away  yonder,  some  half  a  mile 
back  of  this  magnificent  city.  City  indeed  !"  she  con- 
tinued, with  a  curl  of  the  lip.  "Why,  it  might  be  stolen 
from  the  suburbs  of  Boston,  or  any  other  place  of  note, 
and  never  be  missed.  But  mother  would  come  in  spite 
of  me,  and  when  she  takes  a  notion  into  her  head  she 
must  carry  it  out.  She  wishes  herself  back  now,  and  I 
join  her  with  all  my  heart  ;  but,  heighho  !  I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  spend  my  days  here,  for  I  see  no  means  of 
getting  away.  But  I  will  tease  her,  though — I  am 
pledged  to  that — and  that  will  be  some  comfort,  and 
save  me  dying  of  ejiniii.  Oregon  City  !  Umph  !  I 
thought  it  would  turn  out  to  be  woods  before  1  came, 
and  I  told  her  so — but  she  would  not  believe  me.  Come, 
Mr.  Leighton,  don't  be  standing  there  looking  so  sober  ! 


KEEPING   MY  SECRET, 


25 


nor  you,  my  bonnic  Lilian.  I  am  going  to  have  you 
along  ;  and  if  I  don't  make  you  laugh,  why,  I  will  turn  in 
and  cry  myself.  Only  to  think  of  being  here  without  a 
lover  !  It  don't  matter  with  you,  Lilian,  for  you  have 
got  one  ;  but  think  of  me — in  pity  do  !  Nobody  here 
but  some  thick-headed  rustics  that  don't  know  how  to 
make  love.  I  wish  your  brother  w^ould  come,  Lilian — I 
am  dying  to  see  him  !  He  saved  my  life,  you  know  ;  and 
so  I  am  bound,  by  all  the  rules  of  novels,  to  fall  in  love 
with  him  out  of  pure  gratitude." 

"  You  will  not  need  gratitude,  I  fancy,"  added  I,  with 
a  sigh  at  the  thought  of  him,  "  should  you  ever  be  fortu- 
nate enough  to  see  him — for  he  is  a  noble  fellow,  and  one 
I  think  to  your  liking." 

"Ah!"  she  sighed;     you  need  not  tell  me  he  is  a 
noble  fellow — for  none  but  such  would  have  risked  his 
life  as  he  did  for  a  stranger.    I  have  been  in  love  with 
him  ever  since  I  heard  about  it,  though  I  had  long  ago 
-given  up  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  him." 

"  And  he  will  be  ready,  I  will  vouch  for  him,  to  recip- 
rocate the  tender  feeling." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  she  said,  slightly  blushing,  and 
her  eyes  sparkling.  "  Oh,  that  will  be  so  romantic  !  and 
I  love  romance  dearly.  I  will  have  him  down  upon  his  ' 
knees  at  every  frown  ;  and  I  will  frown  twenty  times  a 
day,  just  to  have  him  down  upon  his  knees.  Now  that 
will  be  making  love  to  some  purpose,  eh  ?"  And  giving 
vent  to  a  ringing  laugh,  she  added,  taking  my  arm  : 
"  Come,  don't  let  us  keep  the  good  people  waiting,  or 
they  may  get  off  the  notion,  and  I  w^ould  not  miss  seeing 
the  lake  for  a  costly  ruby." 

My  design  of  telling  a  sad  tale  was  thus  broken  off, 
and,  as  T  said  before,  I  was  not  sorry  for  it. 

Arm  in  arm  with  the  two  I  returned  to  what  was  de- 
nominated the  village,  Eva  the  while  chatting  away 
gayly,  flying  from  one  thing  to  another,  but  ever  adroitly 
returning^  to  Charles  Hiintly,  showing  that  he  now  occu- 
pied no  small  share  of  her  thoughts. 


26      RESOLVE    TO    SEEK   MY  FRIEND. 


CHAPTER  II. 

RESOLVE  TO  SEEK  MY  FRIEND. 

IROM  the  conversation  recorded  in  the  preced- 
ing chapter,  if  will  be  seen  that  Eva  Mortimer 
was  a  very  different  being  from  Lilian 
Huntly  ;  and  as  she  is  destined  to  figure  some- 
what conspicuously  in  these  pages,  I  consider 
the  present  a  good  opportunity  to  describe  her. 

In  person  Eva  Mortimer  was  slightly  above  medium, 
with  a  form  well  developed,  and  a  bust  of  rare  beauty. 
Her  complexion  was  clear  and  dark,  though  scarcely 
sufficient  to  entitle  her  to  the  appellation  of  brunette. 
Her  soft,  hazel  eyes,  shaded  by  silken  lashes,  were  very 
expressive,  and  could  look  love  languishingly,  or  sparkle 
with  mirth,  anger,  or  any  of  the  passions  of  impulse. 
Her  features  were  regular  and  very  prepossessing,  with  a 
nose  slightly  aquiline,  and  mouth  and  lips  as  tempting  as 
one  would  care  to  look  upon. 

Her  disposition  accorded  with  her  looks.  At  heart 
she  was  open  and  generous,  with  a  desire  to  please  and 
be  pleased,  let  fortune  smile  or  frown.  Her  spirits  were 
almost  ever  buoyant,  and  it  required  a  strong  cause  to 
depress  them.  Very  different  from  some,  she  could  not 
easily  be  brought  to  consider  this  bright  earth  as  only  a 
graveyard,  and  herself  a  mournful  inhabitant,  ever  stalk- 
ing among  tombs.  She  did  not  believe  in  storm,  and 
cloud,  and  dreariness,  so  much  as  in  an  open  sky,  sun- 
shine, cheerfulness  and  joy.  It  would  have  required 
great  depth  of  reasoning  to  convince  her  that  God  had 
placed  man  here  expressly  to  mope  out  his  days  in  gloom 
and  sorrow,  either  real  or  imaginary.  She  did  not  fancy 
the  dark  side  of  the  picture  ;  and,  full  of  the  poetry  of  an 
ardent  temperament,  there  was  to  her  in  the  sunshine,  the 
breeze,  the  leaf,  the  blade,  the  flower,  the  mount,  the  vale, 
the  storm,  and  in  fact  in  everything  of  nature,  something 
to  excite  joy  rather  than  sadness.   Whatever  her  fortune, 


RESOLVE    TO    SEEK   MY   FRIEND.  27 


she  took  care  to  make  the  best  of  it  and  not  repine.  She 
was  lively  even  to  gayety,  and  could  rattle  on  for  hours 
in  a  light,  frolicsome  strain,  calculated  to  mislead  sucii 
as  looked  not  below  the  mere  surface  ;  but  those  who 
judged  Eva  Mortimer  by  this,  judged  wrongly;  for  be- 
neath was  a  heart  as  warm,  as  earnest,  as  pure,  as  true, 
as  ever  beat  in  the  breast  of  woman.  This  was  the 
drift,  the  foam,  that  floated  along  on  the  strong  current 
of  a  noble  mind. 

Had  you  seen  and  listened  to  her  in  her  merry  moods, 
you  would  have  thought  perhaps  she  had  no  mind 
above  trifles,  or  beyond  the  mere  present ;  that  she  was 
vain  and  coquettish  to  a  fault  ;  that  she  would  take  no 
delight  in  serious  meditation  ;  an<d  yet  you  could  not 
easily  have  erred  more  in  judgment. 

I  have  seen  her  alone,  in  the  night,  gazing  at  the  stars, 
when  she  thought  no  human  eye  beheld  her.  I  have 
watched  her  musing  over  a  flower,  which  she  patiently 
dissected,  as  if  to  lay  bare  its  mysteries  ;  over  the  pebbles 
which  she  had  gathered  in  some  ramble  ;  over  a  leaf,  a 
blade  of  grass  ;  in  fact  over  whatever  had  chanced  in  her 
path  ;  and  all  in  away  to  show  her  possessed  of  7?iind,  and 
that  of  the  highest  order. 

There  were  but  few  in  her  present  locality  who  really 
knew  Eva  Mortimer,  and  none  who  seemed  to  appreciate 
her  as  did  Lilian. 

In  their  short  acquaintance,  these  two  bright  beings 
had  become  friends  j  not  in  the  cold,  unmeaning  term  of 
the  world — but  friends  sincere  and  true,  and  bound  by 
a  tie  beyond  the  power  of  death  itself  to  sever.  Like  the 
magnet  and  the  needle  had  they  come  together,  to  be  held 
by  attractions  peculiar  to  themselves.  To  each  other 
their  hearts  were  ever  open  ;  and  the  joys  and  sorrows  of 
the  one,  were  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the  other.  They 
talked  together,  walked  together,  read  together  (each  had 
brought  a  few  choice  books),  sang  together,  and  both 
ever  seemed  happier  on  all  occasions  for  the  other's  pres- 
ence. They  were  nearly  of  the  same  age,  of  different 
temperaments,  and  united  like  the  different  strings  of  a 
harp  to  bring  forth  nothing  but  music.  In  short,  they 
loved  each  other — not  with  the  eyanescent  love  of  fiery 


28      RESOLVE    TO    SEEK   MY  FRIE]SrD. 


passion,  which  burns  and  freezes  alternately — but  with 
that  deeper  and  truer  love  which  springs  from  admiration 
of,  and  dependence  on,  in  a  measure,  the  qualities  we  do 
not  possess  ourselves.  It  was  a  holy  love — the  love  of  two 
fair  maidens  just  budding  into  womanhood. 

Of  the  early  history  of  Eva  Mortimer  I  at  this  time 
knew  but  little,  and  this  I  had  gleaned  from  Lilian. 

Her  mother,  a  woman  between  forty  and  fifty  years 
of  age,  was  a  native  of  'England,  of  wealthy  parentage, 
but  not  of  noble  birth. 

Some  twenty-five  years  before  the  date  of  these  events, 
she  had  clandestinely  married  a  French  exile,  apparently 
without  name  or  fortune,  rather  for  the  love  of  romance, 
and  because  she  was  strongly  opposed  by  her  friends, 
than  for  any  real  affection  which  she  had  felt  toward 
the  individual' himself. 

This  proceeding  had  so  incensed  her  parents,  that 
they  had  cast  her  off ;  but,  unlike  most  parents  in  such 
cases,  unwilling  she  should  suffer  too  much,  they  had 
offered  her  a  life  annuity  that  would  keep  her  above 
want,  on  condition  that  she  should  quit  the  country 
immediately  and  return  to  it  no  more. 

To  this  she  had  readily  assented  ;  and  shortly  after, 
with  her  husband,  had  embarked  for  America,  and  had 
finally  settled  at  Quebec,  in  Canada,  where  for  several 
years  they  had  continued  to  live  together — though  not,  it 
must  be  confessed,  in  the  most  harmonious  manner. 

Being  rather  headstrong  and  self-willed,  and  withal 
possessed  of  an  independence,  Madame  Mortimer  had 
sought  to  have  everything  her  own  way,  and  had  not 
scrupled  occasionally  to  make  her  husband  feel  that  he 
was  her  debtor  for  every  luxury  he  enjoyed. 

Of  a  proud  spirit,  and  a  temper  somewhat  irritable, 
he  had  not  displayed  any  too  much  Christian  humility, 
meekness  and  resignation,  and  many  a  bitter  quarrel  had 
been  the  consequence. 

Time  rolled  on,  and  at  the  end  of  five  years  she  had 
given  birth  to  female  twins.  Both  had  been  hoping  for  a 
male  heir  ;  and  consequently  this  event,  instead  of  mend- 
ing, had  rather  served  to  widen,  the  breach.  Quarrel  had 
then  succeeded  quarrel  ;  and  as  love  was  wanting  to 


RESOLVE    TO    SEEK   MY   FRIEND.  29 


harmonize  two  opposing  spirits,  it  had  at  last  been  found 
necessary  to  separate. 

Two  years  had  so  passed,  when  one  morning  Morti- 
mer had  come  into  the  presence  of  his  wife,  with  a  letter 
in  his  hand,  and  had  abruptly  announced  his  intention  of 
leaving  her. 

"As  you  like,"  Madame  Mortimer  had  coolly  replied. 

Mortimer  had  turned  and  left  her,  nor  had  she  ever 
beheld  him  since. 

The  night  following,  the  twin  sister  of  Eva  had  dis- 
appeared ;  and  the  most  diligent  inquiries,  together  with 
the  offer  of  a  large  reward,  had  failed  in  restoring  her  to 
her  anxious  mother. 

The  effect  of  this  upon  Madame  Mortimer  had  proved 
very  severe — for  she  loved  both  her  children  dearly — and 
a  nervous  fever  had  followed  and  nearly  cost  her  her 
life. 

Soon  after  this  she  had  received  news  of  her  father's 
death  ;  and  that,  having  repented  of  his  rashness,  he  had 
left  her  a  rich  legacy,  with  permission  to  return  to  Eng- 
land. 

To  England  therefore  she  went ;  and  there  had  re- 
mained, superintending  the  education  of  Eva,  until  a  de- 
sire for  travel  had  brought  her  once  more  to  this  country, 
whither  she  had  come  in  company  with  her  daughter  and 
a  wealthy  American  lady,  whose  acquaintance  had  been 
made  across  the  w^ater,  and  who  had  subsequently  intro- 
duced her  into  New  York  society,  simply  as  Madame 
Mortimer,  without  a  word  of  explanation,  this  being  at 
her  own  earnest  request. 

Thus  it  was,  as  I  have  before  mentioned,  that  none 
who  had  met  her  in  society  had  been  able  to  learn  who 
she  was  or  whence  she  came,  and  this  had  doubtless 
added  to  her  popularity. 

This  was  all  I  had  been  able  to  gather  from  Lilian  ; 
and  all,  in  fact,  she  knew  ;  and  this  had  been  picked  up 
at  different  times,  from  remarks  that  had  escaped  the  lips 
of  Eva  in  her  more  communicative  moods. 

In  person,  Madame  Mortimer  was  large,  with  a  full, 
handsome  countenance,  expressive,  black  eyes,  and  a 
bearing  dignified  and  queen-like.     At  heart  she  was 


30       RESOLVE    TO    SEEK   MY  FRIEND, 


kind  and  affectionate  ;  and  doubtless,  had  she  been 
properly  mated,  would  have  made  an  exemplary  wife. 
,  Her  passions,  when  excited,  were  strong  even  to  vio- 
lence, with  a  temper  haughty  and  unyielding  to  an  equal, 
but  subdued  and  mild  to  an  inferior.  She  loved  pas- 
sionately, and  hated  bitterly.  With  her,  as  a  general 
thing,  there  was  no  medium.  She  liked  or  disliked, 
and  carried  both  to  extremes.  She  was  a  woman  of 
strong  mind,  much  given  to  thought  and  reflection,  an 
acute  observer  of  everthing  around  her,  and  just  suf- 
ficiently eccentric  to  tlirow  the  freshness  of  originality 
over  all  she  said  or  did.  She  would  do  what  she  thought 
was  proper,  without  regard  to  the  opinion  of  others,  or 
to  what  the  world  would  say.  She  had  resolved  on  a 
journey  to  Oregon,  not  for  any  particular  purpose,  but 
merely  to  carry  out  a  whim  and  see  the  country.  She 
had  done  both,  was  dissatisfied  with  her  present  locality, 
and  now  designed  returning  to  the  States  at  the  first 
favorable  opportunity. 

Of  the  fate  of  her  brother,  Lilian  still  remained  ig- 
norant ;  for,  after  the  interruption  of  Eva,  I  could  never 
summon  enough  moral  courage  to  again  attempt  the 
sad  narration. 

As  time  rolled  on,  I  became  more  and  more  de- 
pressed in  spirits,  and  more  perplexed  as  to  the  course 
I  should  pursue. 

It  was  not  impossible,  I  began  to  reason,  that  Charles 
Huntly  might  be  living ;  and  the  more  I  pondered  on 
this,  the  more  I  was  inclined  to  believe  it  the  case. 

He  had  been  lost  mysteriously,  in  a  part  of  the  world 
notoriously  infested  with  robbers  and  Indians.  If  cap- 
tured by  the  former,  there  was  no  argument  against  the 
supposition  that  he  had  been  plundered  and  sold  into 
slavery.  If  by  the  latter,  might  he  not  have  been  adopted 
by  some  tribe,  and  now  be  a  prisoner  ?  In  either  case,  was 
1  not  in  duty  bound  to  go  in  quest  of  him  ?  and,  if  found, 
to  rescue  him  from  a  horrible  doom,  either  by  ransom  or 
force  ? 

"  At  all  events,"  I  said  to  myself,  I  can  but  fail,  and 
may  succeed." 

On  leaving  home,  I  had  supplied  myself  with  a  large 


RESOLVE    TO    SEEK   MY  FRIEND.  .3' 


amount  of  gold  to  meet  continnrcncics,  and  but  little 
of  this  had  been  expended.  I  could,  perliaps,  engage  a 
party,  for  a  reasonable  sum,  to  accomi)any  me  ;  and  this, 
after  duly  weighing  all  the  circumstances,  I  now  decided 
to  attempt.  I  would  let  Lilian  and  the  others  suppose  I 
had  gone  home,  and  that  I  should  probably  return  with 
Chart's  Iluntly. 

Having  settled  the  matter  in  my  own  mind,  I  resolved 
on  immediate  action,  and  for  this  purpose  called  Teddy 
aside  to  communicate  my  intention. 

"Teddy,"  I  began,  gravely,  did  you  love  your  for- 
mer master?" 

"  Me  masther?"  repeated  the  Irishman,  with  a  look  of 
curious  inquiry  ;  "and  sure  of  who  is't  ye're  spaking, 
yer  honor  ?" 

"Of  Charles  Huntly." 

"Did  I  love  him,  is't?  Faith,  and  does  a  snapping 
turtle  love  to  bite,  or  a  drunkard  to  drink,  that  ye  ax  me 
that  now  ?  Love  him  ?  Troth,  and  was  he  livin',  I'd  go 
to  the  ind  of  the  world  and  jump  off,  jist  to  plase  him, 
and  so  I  would." 

"  It  may  be,  Teddy,  you  can  serve  him  more  effectually 
than  by  a  proceeding  so  dangerous." 

"  Sarve  him,  is't!  Och,  now,  I'd  be  afther  knowing 
of  that  same  !" 

"I  have  taken  a  fancy  into  my  head  that  he  is  liv- 
ing." 

"  Mother  of  Moses  !  ye  don't  say  the  likes  !"  ^H- 
claimed  the  Hibernian,  holding  up  both  hands  in  aston- 
ishment.   "  Ye's  joking,  sure,  your  honor  ?" 

"No,  Teddy,  I  am  serious  as  a  judge.  I  have  always 
had  some  faint  doubts  of  his  death,  and  now  these  doubts 
have  grown  strong  enough  to  induce  me  to  set  off  in 
search  of  him  ;"  and  I  proceeded  to  give  my  reasons. 

"  Ah,  sure,"  said  Teddy,  as  I  concluded,  "this  is  a 
happy  day  for  me  mother's  son,  if  nothing  comes  on't  but 
ppirthing  wid — wid — " 

"But,  Teddy,  I  had  designed  taking  you  along." 

"And  sure,  Misther  Leighton,  isn't  it  going  I  is  wid 
yees  now"  ?  D'ye  think  I'd  be  afther  staying  behind,  like 
a  spalpeen,  and  yees  away  afther  Misther  Huntly?  pace 


32      RESOLVE    TO    SEEK   MY  FRIEND. 


to  his  ashes  !  barring  that  he's  got  no  ashes  at  all,  at  all, 
but  is  raal  flish  and  blood,  like  your  own  bonny  silf, 
that's  one  of  the  kindest  gintlemen  as  iver  wore  out  shoe- 
maker's fixings  and  made  the  tailor  blush  wid  modesty 
for  the  ixcillent  fit  of  his  coat  !" 

"  But  you  spoke  of  parting,  Teddy  ?" 

"  Ah,  troth,  and  yees  a  gallant  yoursilf,  your«honor, 
and  not  sae  it  was  a  wee  bit  of  a  famale  parthing  I's  min- 
tioning,  jist  ?" 

•   "  Female  parting  !    I  do  not  understand  you." 

Here  Teddy  scratched  his  head,  and  looked  not  a  little 
confused. 

"  Why,  ye  sae,  your  honor,"  he  replied,  hesitatingly, 
ye  sae  the  womens  (Heaven  bliss  their  darling  sowls  !) 
is  all  lovable  crathurs  ;  and  it's  mesilf  that  likes  to  maat 
'em  wheriver  I  goes  ;  but  somehow,  your  honor,  a  chap's 
like  to  be  thinking  of  one,  more  in  particular  by  raason 
of  his  nathur  ;  and  that's  the  case  wid  mesilf  now  and 
Molly  Stubbs,  that  lives  yonder,  barring  that  it's  hardly 
living  at  all  that  she's  a-doing  in  this  wild  counthry." 

The  truth  flashed  upon  me  at  once.  One  of  the  set- 
tlers, who  had  come  here  in  advance  of  my  friends,  had 
a  large,  buxom,  rosy-cheeked  daughter  of  eighteen,  who 
went  by  the  euphonious  appellation  of  Molly  Stubbs — 
sometimes.  Big  Molly — and  I  now  remembered  having 
seen  Teddy  idling  about  the  premises,  though  at  the  time 
I  had  no  suspicion  of  the  real  cause. 

"And  so,  Teddy,  you  have  been  making  love,  eh?" 

"  Divil  a  bit,  your  honor." 

"  How  ?  what  ?" 

"  No  !  ye  sae  it  was  all  made  to  me  hand,  and  I've 
ounly  been  acting  it  out,  jist." 

"  Aha !  exactly.  And  so  you  think  you  can  part 
with  your  belle  ami,  eh  ?" 

"And  sure  if  it's  Molly  Stubbs  you  maan  by  that 
Lathin,  it's  mesilf  that  can  say  the  farewell  handsome, 
now." 

"  Well,  make  your  parting  short,  and  then  see  to 
having  the  horses  got  ready,  for  in  less  three  hours  we 
must  be  in  our  saddles." 

With  this  I  turned  away  ;  and  with  slow  steps,  and  a 


THE    SAD  FAREWELLS. 


33 


heart  by  ne>  means  the  lightest,  I  sought  tlic  rcsideiice  of 
Lilian,  to  coniinnnicate  the  unpleasant  intelligence  that 
in  a  lew  minudcs  ive  must  part,  i)erhaj)s  to  meet  no  more 
in  this  world. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE    SAD  FAREWELLS. 

S  I  neared  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Huntly  and 
Lilian  (which  had  also  been  mine  for  some 
months),    for  the   purpose  of  bidding  my 
friends  another  long  adieu,  I  heard  the  merry 
voice  and  ringing  laugh  of  Eva  Mortimer. 
Another  time  this  would  have  been  music  to  my  ears  ; 
but  now  my  spirits  were  greatly  depressed,  and  I  was 
not  in  a  mood  to  appreciate  it. 

The  cabin — it  would  scarcely  bear  a  more  exalted 
title — seemed  surrounded  with  an  air  of  gloom.  It  was 
as  good  as  any,  better  than  most,  which  formed  the  vil- 
lage of  Oregon  City  ;  but  yet  what  a  place  to  be  the 
abode  of  those  who  had  been  used  all  their  lives  to  the 
luxurious  mansions  of  wealth  !  and  I  could  not  avoid 
making  a  comparison  between  the  condition  of  the  ten- 
ants now,  and  when  I  had  approached  to  bid  them  fare- 
well some  three  years  before — nor  of  thinking  with  what 
Christian-like  resignation  they  had  borne,  and  still  bore, 
their  misfortunes. 

Their  present  little  dwelling  was  built  of  unhewn 
logs,  whose  crevices  were  filled  with  clay,  had  a  thatched 
roof,  puncheon  floors,  and  three  apartments.  One  of 
these  had  been  assigned  to  Teddy  and  myself,  anotlier  lo 
Lilian  and  her  mother,  and  the  tiiird  answered  the  treble 
uses  of  parlor,  sitting-room  and  kitchen.  A  few  beds 
and  bedding,  a  table,  one  or  twx>  chairs,  together  with  a 
few  benches,  and  the  most  common  household  utensils, 
comprised  the  principal  furniture. 

2 


34 


And  this  was  the  abode  of  the  lovely  and  once 
wealthy  heiress,  Lilian  Huntly  !  And  she  could  seem 
contented  here  !  What  a  happy  spirit,  to  adapt  itself  to 
all  circumstances — to  blend  itself,  if  I  may  so  express  it, 
with  every  fortune  ! 

With  this  reflection  I  crossed  the  threshold,  and  be- 
held Lilian  and  Eva  in  gay  conversation,  and  Mrs. 
Huntly  seated  by  the  table,  perusing  a  book. 

Both  tlie  young  ladies  turned  to  me  as  I  entered,  and 
Eva  at  once  exclaimed  : 

'*So,  Mr,  Francis,  you  have  just  come  in  time — we 
have  it  all  settled." 

"  May  I  inquire  what  ?"  returned  I,  gravely. 

"  May  you  inquire  what  ?"  she  repeated,  with  a  play- 
ful curl  of  the  lip.  "  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  starch, 
ministerial  look,  Lilian  ? — as  grave  is  he  as  a  sexton.  Why 
one  would  suppose  all  his  friends  were  dead,  and  he  had 
come  to  invite  us  to  the  funeral.  Heigh-ho  !  if  ever  I  get 
a  lover,  he  shall  wear  no  such  look  as  that  ;  if  he  do,  it 
will  be  at  the  risk  of  having  his  hair  combed  and  pow- 
dered, I  assure  you." 

"  But  I  have  reason  for  looking  grave,"  I  replied. 

"Eh!  what!"  cried  Eva.  changing  instantly  her 
whole  expression  and  manner.  "Surely  you  have  no  bad 
news  for  us  .?"  and  she  approached  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  my  arm,  with  a  troubled  look  ;  while  Lilian  sunk 
down  upon  a  seat,  as  if  she  had  some  sad  foreboding, 
and  Mrs.  Huntly  turned  her  eyes  upon  me  inquir- 
ingly. 

"Give  yourselves  no  alarm,"  I  hastened  to  reply. 
"I  have  only  come  to  say  that  we  must  separate  for  a 
time." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  Eva,  looking  seriously. 
"You  have  heard  tidings  of  Charles?"  added  Mrs. 
Huntly. 

I  glanced  at  Lilian  ;  but  she  said  not  a  word,  though 
all  color  had  forsaken  her  features. 

"  No,  I  have  not  heard  from  Charles,"  I  rejoined,  in 
answer  to  Mrs.  Huntly  ;  "  but  I  presume  I  shall  ere  I  re- 
turn.'" 


THE   SAD  FAREWELLS. 


35 


*  Good  Heavens  !  then  you  arc  going  far?"  cried  Eva, 
in  astonishment. 

"  I  contem|)late  making  a  journey  to  the  East,  and 
may  meet  Charles  on  the  way — in  which  case  I  shall 
return  at  once — otherwise  I  may  be  absent  all  sum- 
mer." 

"  Why,  Francis,  what  has  made  you  resolve  thus  so 
suddenly  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Huntly.  *'  How  are  we  to  do 
without  you  ?  I  thought — (she  paused  and  glanced  toward 
Lilian,  who  had  turned  her  head  aside  and  seemed  deeply 
affected) — that — that — you  intended  to  pass  the  summer 
with  us  ?" 

"  Cruel  man  !"  said  Eva,  in  a  whisper  ;  "  how  can  you 
leave  the  sweetest  being  on  earth?  Oh,  you  men  !"  And 
then  she  continued  aloud:  *'Iwish  we  were  all  going 
with  you  !  Can  you  not  take  us  all  along?" 

"Why,  I  fear  it  would  not  be  safe." 
As  safe  as  it  is  here,  I  am  certain.  Surely  we  could 
not  be  more  than  killed  if  we  went ;  and  who  knows  but 
some  of  these  Indians,  that  are  in  the  habit  of  visiting 
our  great  city  here,  may  take  a  notion  we  have  lived 
long  enough,  and  so  murder  us  all — or  marry  us,  which 
would  be  quite  as  bad  !  But  whoever  knew  a  gentleman 
gallant  enough  to  do  what  was  asked  of  him  ?  Ah  !  I 
see — you  don't  even  listen  now  ;  your  thoughts  are  all 
with  somebody  else  ;  and  so  I  will  retire.  Let  me  know 
when  it  is  over,  as  I  wish  to  bid  you  adieu  ;  "  and  she 
darted  out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Huntly  was  on  the  point  of  interrogating  me 
further  ;  but  perceiving,  by  a  sign  from  Lilian,  that  the 
latter  wished  to  see  me  alone,  she  made  some  excuse, 
and  went  into  an  adjoining  apartment.  The  moment 
she  had  disappeared,  Lilian  sprung  up  and  flew  into  my 
arms. 

"Is  this  true,  Francis?"  she  exclaimed.  "Are  you 
really  going  to  leave  us  ?" 

"  I  fear  I  must  for  a  time,"  I  said,  in  a  not  very  firm 
voice. 

"  A  long  time  then,"  sighed  the  fair  girl  ;  "  a  long  time 
if  you  are  going  East.  Oh,  Francis,  I  did  not  think  we 
should  part  so  soon  !    What  have  you  heard  ?  Some- 


36 


THE   SAD  FAREWELLS. 


thing,  surely — for  you  have  never  intimated  this  before — 
and  you  would  not  deceive  one  who  loves  you  ?" 

This  was  said  so  touchingiy,  with  such  naivete,  that 
for  a  time  I  only  replied  by  pressing  her  more  closely 
to.  my  heart,  and  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  her  quivering 
lips. 

"  I  cannot  tell  my  Lilian  everything,"  I  at  length  made 
answer.  "Suffice,  that  I  have  important  reasons  for 
going  ;  and  sometime,  God  willing,  you  shall  know  all. 
My  resolution  to  leave  was  formed  to-day,  and  to-day  we 
must  part." 

"To-day?"  she  gasped;  and  I  felt  her  whole  form 
quiver  like  a  reed  shaken  by  the  wind.  "  Oh,  no  !  not 
to-day,  Francis!  That  would  be  too  much — too  sudden  ! 
You  must  not  go  to-day  !" 

"  Why  not,  dearest  ?  I  shall  return  one  day  the  sooner 
for  it  doubtless  ;  and  it  will  be  as  hard  to  part  to-morrow 
as  to-day." 

"  But  it  is  so  sudden — so  unexpected  !"  she  pleaded. 
"  Delay  till  to-morrow,  Francis  !" 

"Well,  anything  to  please  you,"  and  I  stamped  the 
promise  with  a  seal  of  love.  "  Be  cheerful  as  you  can  in 
my  absence,  Lilian  ;  and  when  I  return  with  your 
brother — " 

"  Oh,  then  you  are  going  to  find  him  !"  she  exclaimed, 
interrupting  me.  "That  return  will  be  joyful  indeed! 
Poor  Charles  !  If  you  do  not  meet  him  on  the  way,  most 
likely  you  will  in  Boston.  Cheer  him  all  you  can,  Fran- 
cis !  and  tell  him  we  are  as  happy  as  circumstances  will 
allow  us  to  be." 

"  Beg  pardon,  your  honor  I"  said  the  voice  of  Teddy 
at  the  moment,  startling  Lilian,  like  a  frightened  roe, 
from  my  arms ;  "  beg  pardon  for  interrupting  yees  ! — 
but  the  baast  ye  buyed,  this  while  ago,  is  not  inywhere 
to  my  knowing." 

"Never  mind,  Teddy;  go  and  hunt  it.  It  must  be 
about,  unless  the  Indians  have  stolen  it ;  in  which  case  I 
must  get  another.  Hunt  for  it — I  shall  not  leave  to-day." 

"Troth,  thin,  I'll  have  another  parthing  mesilf,  jist !" 
returned  Teddy,  as  he  disappeared  with  a  pleased  look. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Huntly,  hearing  another  voice, 


THE   SAD  FAREWELLS. 


37 


reappeared,  and  my  tite-h-tite  with  Lilian  was  for  the 
time  broken  off. 

The  former  had  a  great  many  questions  to  ask  me— 
why  I  had  decided  leaving  so  suddenly — when  I  expected 
to  reach  Boston,  and  the  like — so  that  I  had  no  little 
difficulty  in  replying  in  a  way  not  to  commit  myself. 

Then  she  had  letters  to  write  to  her  friends  ;  and 
Lilian  had  letters  to  prepare  also  ;  and  the  news  of  my 
departure  having  circulated  quickly  through  the  village, 
numbers  called  to  see  me,  to  send  messages  and  letters  to 
their  native  land  ;  so  that  what  with  listening  to  their 
requests,  to  an  extra  amount  of  advice  as  to  the  proper 
mode  of  conducting  myself  under  all  circumstances,  and 
attending  to  my  own  affairs,  I  was  kept  busy  all  day, 
without  the  opportunity  of  another  private  interview 
with  Lilian. 

A  fine  horse,  which  I  had  purchased  a  few  days  before 
of  an  Indian,  was  lost — the  late  owner  I  suppose,  or  some 
of  his  friends,  having  thought  it  best  to  recover  the  ani- 
mal without  troubling  me  in  the  matter  at  all.  Conse- 
quently another  beast  was  to  be  procured  ;  and  as  this 
was  for  Teddy,  I  allowed  him  to  make  his  own  selection 
— the  one  I  had  ridden  hither  still  being  in  my  posses- 
sion. 

At  last,  everything  being  prepared,  I  retired  to  my 
couch,  heartily  fatigued  with  my  day's  work. 

But  thought  was  too  busy  to  allow  me  much  sleep  ; 
and  I  question  if  at  least  one  other  did  not  pass  a  restless 
night  from  the  same  cause ;  for,  on  appearing  in  the 
morning,  I  noticed  that  the  features  of  Lilian  were  very 
pale,  and  her  eyes  red  as  if  from  recent  weeping. 

But  she  seemed  firm,  ready  to  endure  the  separation, 
and  uttered  not  a  single  word  of  complaint. 

I  could  have  loved  her  for  this,  if  for  nothing  else — 
her  conduct  was  so  womanly  and  sensible. 

She  did  not  feel  the  less,  that  she  did  not  show  it 
more,  I  knew.  She  was  about  to  part  with  one  she  had 
loved  from  childhood — one  to  whom  her  heart  and  hand 
were  pledged — and  this  in  a  strange,  wild  country,  for  a 
long  separation,  full  of  peril  to  both,  with  no  certainty 
of  ever  seeing  him  again.    It  could  not  but  be  painful  to 


38  THE   SAD  FAREWELLS. 


her  in  any  situation — doubly  so  in  the  one  she  was 
placed — and  I  fancy  I  appreciated  her  noble  firmness  as 
it  deserved. 

The  countenances  of  Mrs.  Huntly,  Madame  Morti- 
mer, Eva,  and  many  others,  all  were  grave  ;  and  I  read  in 
their  looks  unfeigned  sorrow  at  my  close-coming  de- 
parture. 

The  morning  meal  was  eaten  in  silence,  as  all  were 
too  sad  and  full  of  deep  thought  for  unnecessary  conver- 
sation. Ere  it  was  finished,  my  friends  had  all  collected 
to  bid  me  farewell  and  God  speed  ;  and  the  announce- 
ment by  Teddy,  that  the  horses  were  ready,  was  the  sig- 
nal for  me  to  begin  the  parting  scene.  # 

Commencing  with  those  I  cared  least  about,  I  shook 
each  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  passed  from  one  to  the 
other  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

"  Francis  Leighton,"  said  Madame  Mortimer,  when  I 
came  to  her,  and  her  hand  pressed  mine  warmly,  and  her 
voice  trembled  as  she  spoke,  "  remember  that  to  you  and 
your  friend  my  daughter  owes  her  life,  and  I  a  debt  of 
gratitude  that  may  never  be  canceled.  If  my  prayers  for 
your  safe  and  happy  return  be  of  any  avail,  you  have 
them.  God  bless  you,  sir  !  and  remember,  that,  what- 
ever may  happen  in  this  changing  world,  in  me,  while 
living,  you  have  a  warm  friend  ;  and  (approaching  and 
w^hispering  in  my  ear),  so  has  Lilian  and  her  mother. 
While  I  have  aught,  they  shall  never  want.  Farewell, 
my  friend — farewell  ;  but,  1  hope,  only  for  a  time." 

Madame  Mortimer  stepped  aside,  and  I  turned  to  Ev^a. 
There  was  no  merriment  in  her  look  now — nothing  light 
upon  her  tongue. 

You  have  heard  the  words  of  mother,"  she  said, 
impressively.  "  They  are  not  meaningless.  To  you  and 
your  friend  I  am  indebted  for  my  life.  My  conversation 
at  times  may  Imve  seemed  light  and  trilling;  but  not- 
withstanding, brancis,  i  would  have  you  believe  there  is 
a  heart  beneuth  all,  iliat  does  not  overlook  the  merits  of 
its  friends,  nor  feel  ligiitly  tor  their  welfare.  When  you 
see  your  friend,  teil  him  th^tt  he  is  prayed  for  daily,  by 
one  who,  though  she  never  saw  him,  can  never  cease  to 
remember  him.    Adieu  !  and  may  God  bear  you  sately 


THE   SAD  FAREWELLS. 


39 


through  all  peril  !"  and  she  turned  away,  as  if  to  hide  a 
tear. 

"  Francis,"  said  Mrs.  Iluntly,  striving  to  command 
her  voice,  which  trembled  ncjt  a  little,  as  she  held  both 
my  hands  in  hers  :  "  Francis,  it  is  hard — very,  very  hard 
— to  part  with  you.  But  I  suppose  I  must,  and  I  hope  it 
is  all  tor  the  best.  I  have  had  so  much  trouble  within  a 
few  years — have  seen  so  many  of  those  I  once  supposed 
my  friends  forsake  me — that  it  really  becomes  grievous 
to  part  with  any  of  the  few  I  have  tried  and  not  found 
wanting.  But  go,  Francis,  and  God  protect  you  !• 
Should  you  be  fortunate  enough  to  meet  with  dear 
Charles — (here  her  voice  faltered  to  a  pause,  and  she  was 
forced  to  dash  away  the  tears  dimming  her  eyes) — tell — 
tell  him  all.  Break  the  matter  gently,  if  he  does  not 
already  know  it — and — and  comfort  him  the  best  way  you 
can.  My  love — my  deepest,  undying  love — to  your 
parents  and  all  my  friends.  There — there — I  can  say  no 
more — no  more.  Go,  Francis,  and  God's  blessing  and 
mine  attend  you  !  Good-bye  !  farewell  !"and,  shaking 
my  hands  warmly,  with  her  head  averted,  she  dropped 
them  and  disappeared  into  another  apartment,  seem- 
ingly too  much  affected  to  tarry  longer  in  my  pres- 
ence. 

With  a  proper  delicacy,  for  which  I  gave  them  ample 
credit,  one  after  another  departed,  until  I  was  left  alone 
with  Lilian. 

While  these  several  partings  were  taking  place,  she 
had  remained  seated,  watching  the  whole  proceedings, 
with  what  feelings  I  leave  lovers  to  judge. 

I  now  turned  to  her,  and  felt  that  the  grand  trial 
was  at  hand,  and  my  heart  seemed  to  be  in  my  very 
throat. 

Her  sweet  countenance  was  pale  and  death-like,  her 
very  lips  were  white,  and  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  There 
was  no  shyness,  no  trembling,  no  apparent  excitement. 
She  seemed,  as  her  heavenly  blue  eyes  fixed  themselves 
upon  mine,  rather  a  beautiful  figure,  cut  from  the  purest 
marble,  cold  and  motionless,  than  a  living,  breathing, 
human  being.    But,  oh  !  what  thoughts,  what  agonies, 


40 


THE   SAD  FAREWELLS. 


were  rending  that  soul  within  !  mastered  only  by  a  most 
powerful  will ! 

With  a  step  none  of  the  firmest,  I  approached  and  took 
a  seat  by  her  side,  and  laid  my  hand  upon  hers. 

"  Lilian,"  I  said,  in  a  scarcely  articulate  voice ; 
"  Lilian,  the  time  has  come  to — to — part." 

She  did  not  reply  in  words — she  could  not  ;  but  she 
rose  to  her  feet,  her  ivory  arms  encircled  my  neck,  and 
her  feelings  found  vent  in  tears  upon  my  heaving  breast. 

Smile,  if  you  will,  reader — you  who  have  passed  the 
romantic  bounds  of  a  first  pure  and  holy  passion,  and  be- 
come identified  with  the  cares  and  dross  of  a  money- 
getting,  matter-of-fact,  dollar-and-cent-life — smile  if  you 
will,  as  your  eye  chances  upon  this  simple  passage  ;  and 
curl  your  lip  in  proud  disdain  of  what  you  now  consider 
foolish  days  of  love-sick  sentimentality  ;  but  remember, 
withal,  that,  in  your  long  career  of  painful  experience, 
you  can  refer  to  no  period  when  you  felt  more  happi- 
ness, more  unadulterated  joy,  than  that  when  the  being 
of  your  first  ambition  and  love  lay  trustingly  in  your 
arms.  It  is  a  point  in  the  life  of  each  and  all  who  have 
experienced  it  (and  to  none  other  are  these  words  ad- 
dressed), which  can  never  be  erased  from  the  tablet  of 
memory  ;  and  though  in  after  years  we  may  affect  to 
deride  it  as  the  weakness  of  youth,  it  will  come  upon  us 
in  our  reflective  moments,  like  a  warm  sunshine  sud- 
denly bursting  upon  a  late  cold  and  gloomy  landscape  ; 
and  insensibly,  as  it  were,  our  spirits  will  be  borne  away, 
to  live  over  again,  though  briefly,  the  happiest  moments 
of  our  existence.  The  man  who  has  passed  the  prime 
and  vigor  of  manhood  without  ever  having  felt  this — 
without  this  to  look  back  to — I  pity  ;  for  he  has  missed 
the  purest  enjoyment  offered  to  mortal  ;  and  his  whole 
path  of  life  must  have  been  through  a  sterile  desert, 
without  one  green  blade  or  flower  to  relieve  its  barren 
waste. 

For  some  moments  the  heart  of  Lilian  beat  rapidly 
against  mine,  and  her  tears  flowed  hot  and  fast.  I  did 
not  attempt  to  restrain  the  latter,  for  I  knew  they  would 
bring  relief  to  an  overcharged  soul,  and  I  rejoiced  that 


OUR   PERILS  BEGIN. 


she  could  weep.  At  length  they  ceased,  and  Lilian 
spoke. 

"I  will  not  detain  you  longer,  dear  Francis!  For 
you  and  I,  who  know  each  other  so  well,  words  are  idle 
and  unmeaning,  or  at  least  unexprcssive  of  our  feelings. 
Avoid  danger  for  your  own  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  her 
who  loves  you  ;  and  do  not  forget  that  she  will  count  the 
days,  the  hours,  ay,  the  minutes^  of  your  absence." 

"I  will  not,  dearest  Lilian!"  I  exclaimed,  straining 
her  to  my  breast,  and  pressing  my  lips  again  and  again 
to  hers.  "I  will  not  forget  there  lives  an  angel  to  make 
happy  my  return  ;  and  God  send  my  return  may  make 
her  happy  also  !  Adieu,  dearest — take  heart — do  not  de- 
spond— and  Pleaven  grant  our  meeting  may  be  soon  ! 
There,  God  bless  you  !  and  holy  angels  guard  you  !"  and, 
taking  a  farewell  salute,  I  gently  seated  her  as  before, 
and  rushed  from  the  cottage. 

Two  fiery  horses  stood  saddled  and  bridled  at  the 
door,  pawing  the  earth  impatiently  ;  and  snatching  the 
bridle  of  one  from  the  hand  of  Teddy,  I  vaulted  into  the 
saddle. 

The  next  minute  I  was  dashing  away  at  a  dangerous 
speed,  but  one  that  could  scarcely  keep  pace  with  my 
thoughts. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OUR  PERILS  BEGIN. 

ITH  the  mind  completely  engrossed,  the  body 
often  acts  mechanically,  or  by  instinct,  and 
performs,  without  our  knowledge  at  the 
time,  exactly  what  reason  would  have  dic- 
tated ;  and  when  some  trifling  circumstance 
recalls  us  to  ourselves,  we  arouse  as  from  a  dream,  and 
are  surprised  at  what  has  been  accomplished  during  our 
brief  alienation. 


42 


OUR   PERILS  BEGIN, 


So  was  it  with  myself  in  the  present  instance. 

On,  on  I  sped,  as  if  riding  for  life,  my  hand  firmly 
upon  the  rein,  guiding  unerringly  my  high-mettled  beast, 
and  yet  unconscious  of  anything  external,  with  thoughts 
wild  and  painful  rushing  through  my  brain. 

How  long  or  far  I  had  ridden  thus,  I  do  not  exactly 
know,  though  miles  now  lay  between  me  and  Oregon 
City  ;  nor  how  much  longer  I  should  have  continued  at 
the  same  break-neck  speed,  had  my  horse  not  stumbled, 
and  thus  broken  the  monotony  of  a  steady  ride  by  un- 
seating and  nearly  throwing  me  over  his  head. 

Recovering  my  position,  and  reining  my  beast  to  a 
halt,  I  found  him  covered  with  foam,  and  very  much 
blown  from  his  late  run  ;  and  that  I  was  upon  a  narrow 
upland  prairie,  which  stretched  away  before  me  for 
several  miles,  fringed  on  either  hand,  at  no  great  distance, 
with  a  beautiful  wood. 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  was  my  first  involuntary  exclama- 
tion ;  how  did  I  get  here  with  a  whole  neck  ?  and  where 
is  Teddy?" 

The  last  question  found  a  more  ready  answer  than 
either  of  the  preceding,  in  a  shout  from  the  veritable 
Teddy  O'Lagherty  himself. 

I  looked  behind  and  beheld  him  coming  as  if  on  a 
race  with  death  for  the  last  half  hour  of  his  existence. 
His  appearance  was  not  a  little  ludicrous.  His  body 
was  bent  forward  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  so  as 
to  allow  him  to  grasp  the.  mane  of  the  beast — his  only 
hope — his  feet  having  slipped  from  the  stirrups,  which 
were  dangling  against  the  animal's  flanks,  and  serving 
the  purpose  of  spurs — while  his  hat,  for  security  being 
held  in  his  teeth,  smothered  the  shouts  he  was  making 
to  attract  my  attention.  Add  to  this,  that  the  horse 
had  no  guide  but  his  own  will,  that  at  every  spring 
Teddy  bounced  from  the  saddle  to  the  imminent  danger 
of  his  neck,  and  greatly  to  the  aid  of  his  digestive  organs, 
and  an  idea  of  the  discomfiture  of  the  poor  fellow  may 
be  formed,  as  his  horse  dashed  up  alongside  of  mine  and 
came  to  a  dead  halt. 

It  is  said  there  is  but  one  short  step  from  the  sublime 
to  the  ridiculous,  and  I  certainly  felt  the  force  of  the 


V 


OUR   PERILS  BEGIN. 


4.3 


proverb  on  tlie  present  occasion.  I  had  been  half  mad 
with  distractini^  thoughts  ;  but  everything  was  now  for- 
gotten ;  and  I  burst  forth  in  a  roar  of  laughter,  sucli  as 
I  am  certain  had  never  startled  those  solitudes  bef(jre. 

"Be  the  howly  Moses!"  cried  Teddy,  regaining  an 
upright  position,  with  a  face  the  hue  of  a  boiled  lobster  ; 
"  is  ye  mad  now,  ye  divil  ? — beg  pardon  ! — your  lion  or,  I 
maan.  Jabers  !  what  a  ride  !  Och  !  I'm  done  for — 
claan  murthered  intirely — all  pumice  from  me  toes  up- 
ward, barring  me  body  and  head-piece,  jist." 

"  Why,  Teddy,"  returned  I,  as  soon  as  I  could  get 
calm  enough  to  command  my  voice,  "  what  new  feature 
of  horsemanship  is  this  you  have  adopted?  I  am  sure 
you  would  make  your  fortune  in  any  circus,  with  such  a 
heroic  display  of  your  animal  capacities." 

"  Agh  !  ye  may  laugh  and  be  d — plased  to  yees  ;  but  it's 
me  mother's  own  son  as  feels  more  like  crying,  so  it  is  ! 
Fortune,  is  it,  ye  mintioned?  Be  howly  St.  Christopher  ! 
it's  not  mesilf  that  ud  do  the  likes  agin  for  twinty  for- 
tunes. Och  !  I'm  killed  intirely — all  barring  the  braath- 
ing,  that  lingers  still." 

"Well,  well,  Teddy,  I  trust  you  will  not  have  to 
repeat  it,"  pursued  I,  laughing  still.  "But,  come — where 
do  you  think  we  are?" 

"Think,  is  it?  Ye  ax  me  to  think?  Sure,  divil  of  a 
think  I've  got  in  me  now  !  I  lift  it  all  on  the  road,  that 
was  no  road  at  all,  but  the  worst  traveled  counthry  I  iver 
put  eyes  on.  We  may  be  among  the  Hindoo  haythen,  for 
all  me  knows  conthrawise ;  for  not  a  blissed  thing  did  I 
sae  on  the  journey,  but  r-rocks,  traas  and  stumps,  and  the 
divil  knows  what  all,  and  thim  a-going  so  fast  I  couldn't 
git  time  to  say  good-bye  to  'em." 

To  the  best  of  my  judgment,  we  had  come  about  five 
miles,  in  a  d-irection  due  east. 

Far  in  the  distance  before  me,  I  now  beheld  the  lofty, 
snow-crowned  peak  of  Mount  Hood  ;  and  toward  this, 
without  further  delay,  we  bent  our  steps,  at  a  pace 
strongly  contrasting  with  the  speed  which  had  borne  us 
hither. 

"  Why  did  you  not  call  to  me,  when  you  saw  me 
riding  at  a  rate  so  fearful  ?"  I  inquired. 


44 


OUR   PERILS  BEGIN, 


"Call,  is  it?"  replied  Teddy.  "Faith!  jist  ax  me 
lungs  if  I  didn't  call,  till  me  breath  quit  coming  for  the 
strain  upon  'em." 

"  And  so  you  couldn't  make  me  hear,  eh  ?" 

"  Make  the  dead  hear !  Och  !  I  might  as  well  av 
called  to  a  graveyard,  barring  the  looks  of  the  thing. 
Was  yees  mad,  your  honor  ?" 

Oh,  no,  Teddy — only  a  little  excited  at  parting  with 
my  friends." 

"  Agh  !  thim  same  parthings  is  mighty  har-r-d,  now, 
so  they  is  !"  rejoined  Teddy,  with  a  sigh. 

"  So  you  can  speak  from  experience,  eh  ?" 

"  Be  me  troth,  can  I,  now  ;  and  so  can  Molly  Stubbs 
— the  swaat  crathur  that  she  is." 

"  Did  it  break  her  heart,  Teddy  ?" 

"  It's  not  asy  for  me  to  say,  your  honor  ;  but  it  broke 
her  gridiron,  and  the  ounly  one  she  had  at  that,  poor 
dear  !" 

"  Her  gridiron  ?"  I  exclaimed,  struggling  to  repress 
my  risible  faculties  and  keep  a  grave  face,  for  I  saw 
Teddy  was  in  sober  earnest,  and  totally  unaware  that  there 
was  anything  ludicrous  in  his  remark.  "  How  did  it 
affect  the  gridiron,  Teddy?" 

"  Why,  ye  sae  now,  she  was  jist  holding  it  betw^aan 
her  two  fingers,  and  fixing  for  a  fry  maybe,  whin  up  I 
comes,  and  tapping  her  under  the  chin,  by  raason  of  our 
ould  acquaintance,  I  sez  : 

"  •  It's  a  blissed  day  I  saw  ye  first,  me  darling.' 

"*That  it  was,  Misther  Teddy,'  sez  she. 

"  '  I  wish  that  first  maating  could  last  foriver,'  sez  I. 

"  *  And  so  do  I,'  sez  she. 

"  *  But  it  won't,'  sez  I  ;  and  thin  I  sighed,  and  she 
axed  me  what  was  the  mather. 

"'Oh,  worra !  worra  !'  I  sez;  'it's  about  to  part  we 
is,  Molly,  dear.' 

"  *  Ye  don't  say  the  likes  !'  sez  she  ;  and  thin  down 
come  the  gridiron,  as  if  the  Ould  Scratch  Was  a  riding 
it,  smash  upon  the  stone  harth,  and  into  me  arms  pitched 
Molly,  wid  a  flood  of  tears  that  made  me  look  wathery 
for  a  long  occasion.  Now  it's  not  what  we  did  afther- 
wards  I'm  going  to  till,  at  all,  at  all  ;  but  whin  we  both 


OUR    PERILS  BEGIN. 


45 


come  sensible,  our  eyes  besaw  the  gridiron  all  broke,  and 
not  wort  a  ha'pence.  Molly  cried,  she  did,  and  1  gin  her 
a  month's  wages  to  ase  her  conscience.  Musha,  now, 
but  parthings  is  har-r-d,  so  they  is." 

In  this  and  like  manner  I  managed  to  relieve  my 
mind  of  many  gloomy  thoughts,  which  otherwise  must 
have  painfully  depressed  it. 

I  had  parted  the  second  time  with  Lilian,  for  a 
journey  equally  as  full  of  peril  as  the  first,  and,  if  any- 
thing, of  a  more  indefinite  character. 

I  was  going  in  search  of  my  lost  friend,  it  is  true  ; 
but  what  little  chance  had  I,  I  thought,  when  I  came  to 
look  at  it  soberly,  of  finding  him,  even  if  alive.  I  might 
travel  thousands  on  thousands  of  miles — be  months,  even 
years,  on  the  search — and  yet  be  no  nearer  revealing  his 
locality  than  when  I  set  out.  If  living,  it  was  a  mere 
chance  if  we  should  ever  meet  again,  and  nothing  perhaps 
but  a  kin«d  Providence  could  bring  us  together. 

As  may  be  inferred,  when  I  quitted  my  friends  in 
Oregon  City  I  had  no  definite  plan  arranged  ;  and  now 
that  I  was  really  on  the  journey,  the  question  naturally 
arose  as  to  what  I  should  do,  how  first  to  proceed,  and 
where  to  begin.  I  had  resolved  on  engaging  assistance, 
but  where  was  this  to  be  found  ? 

For  some  time  I  puzzled  my  own  brain  with  the  matter, 
and  then  referred  it  to  Teddy. 

Though  brought  up  in  an  humble  sphere  of  life,  with 
very  little  education,  Teddy  was  nevertheless  a  keen, 
shrewd  observer,  and  of  excellent  judgment  in  matters 
coming  within  the  range  of  his  intellect  and  experience  ; 
and  accordingly  I  relied  much  upon  his  advice. 

Having  heard  the  case  fully  stated,  with  the  gravity 
of  a  judge,  and  asked  several  pertinent  questions,  he 
replied,  that  our  best  course,  in  his  humble  opinion,  was 
to  continue  our  present  route  as  far  as  Fort  Hall,  where 
we  would  be  likely  to  augment  our  number  to  our  satis- 
faction, and  could  then  proceed  in  a  southerly  direction 
md  be  guided  by  succeeding  events. 

As  this  tallied  exactly  with  my  own  views,  the  plan 
was  quickly  adopted,  and  I  rode  forward  with  the  great 


46 

« 


OUR   PERILS  BEGIN. 


mental  relief  that  I  now  had  a  fixed  purpose,  whether 
right  or  wrong. 

For  several  miles  our  course  lay  over  the  upland 
prairie  I  have  mentioned  ;  then  the  ground  changed  and 
became  more  rolling  ;  and  this  in  turn  gave  place  to  hills, 
sometimes  sparsely  and  sometimes  densely  wooded,  in- 
terspersed with  rocks,  gullies  and  deep  ravines,  that 
greatly  impeded  our  progress. 

We  halted  to  noon  in  a  little  valley,  through  which, 
with  a  roaring  sound  over  its  rocky  bed,  dashed  a  briglit 
stream  of  pure  water,  on  whose  banks  grew  rich,  green 
grass,  of  such  luxuriance  as  to  satisfy  the  appetites  of  our 
animals  in  a  very  short  time. 

While  partaking  of  some  plain  food,  of  which  we  had 
a  small  store,  we  amused  ourselves  by  overhauling  our 
rifles,  examining  their  priming,  as  well  as  our  other 
weapons  and  ammunition,  and  seeing  that  everything 
was  in  a  proper  condition  to  meet  danger. 

Scarcely  was  this  over,  when  in  a  whisper  Teddy 
called  my  attention  to  a  fine,  fat  buck,  which  was  trotting 
along  within  rifle  shot. 

Quick  as  thought  I  drew  up  my  piece  and  fired. 

The  animal  instantly  bounded  forward  a  short  dis- 
tance, reeled,  and  fell  upon  its  side. 

The  next  moment  we  were  on  our  way  to  examine 
the  carcass,  and  take  from  it  the  most  suitable  portions 
for  our  wants. 

We   had   scarcely  proceeded  twenty  paces,  when 
Teddy,  grasping  my  arm,  exclaimed  : 
Injins,  be  jabers  !" 

And  sure  enough,  just  issuing  from  a  clump  of 
bushes,  on  the  opposite  side-  of  the  valley,  distant  less 
than  two  hundred  yards,  were  six  half-naked  savages, 
armed,  two  of  them,  with  rifles  or  muskets,  and  the 
others  with  bows  and  arrows. 

As  it  was  impossible  to  divine  their  intentions,  only 
by  their  acts,  and  as  they  made  straight  toward  us, 
I  snatched  Teddy's  rifle  from  his  hands,  and,  ordering 
him  to  load  mine  as  quick  as  possible,  raised  it  to  my 
shoulder,  determined,  should  they  prove  hostile,  to  sell 


i  OUR   PERILS   BEGIN.  47 

my  life  dearly,  and  die,  if  I  must,  with  the  satisfaction  of 
having  done  my  duty  in  sclf-dcfensc. 

Perceiving  my  movement,  they  came  to  a  halt,  and 
made  me  friendly  signs,  by  extending  their  open  hands 
and  then  placing  them  on  their  hearts. 

Dropping  the  muzzle  of  my  rifle,  I  did  the  same,  and 
then  waited  for  them  to  come  up — though,  it  must  be 
confessed,  with  not  the  most  faith  imaginable  in  their 
amicable  professions. 

However,  I  kept  well  on  my  guard  ;  and  by  the  time 
they  had  shortened  the  first-mentioned  distance  between 
us  by  a  hundred  paces,  Teddy  coolly  announced  that  two 
bullets  were  at  their  service  at  any  moment  they  might 
choose. 

As  they  approached  us,  I  made  them  out,  by  their 
costume  and  paint,  to  belong  to  the  Chinnook  tribe, 
whose  grounds  lie  due  north  of  Oregon  City,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Columbia  River.  I  had  frequently 
seen  more  or  less  of  them  in  the  village  ;  and  had,  in 
fact,  purchased  the  horse,  mentioned  as  being  stolen, 
from  one  of  their  tribe  ;  so  that  I  now  feared  less  a  de- 
sign upon  my  life  than  upon  my  property. 

The  party  in  question  were  all  inferior  beings,  both 
in  size  and  appearance  ;  but  one  seemed  superior  to  the 
others,  and  possessed  of  command. 

He  approached  me  in  advance  of  his  companions,  and 
held  out  his  hand,  which  I  accepted  and  shook  in  a 
friendly  manner. 

He  next  proceeded  to  Teddy,  and  each  in  turn  fol- 
lowed his  example. 

When  all  had  done,  the  chief  addressed  me  in  broken 
English  : 

"  Where  you  come  ?" 

"  From  the  village,  yonder,"  I  replied,  pointing  with 
my  finger  toward  Oregon  City. 
Where  go  ?" 

"  Away  beyond  the  mountains,"  and  I  pointed  east- 
ward. 

"Good  muskee  (musket)  got?" 
I  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 
"  Good  hoss  got  ?" 


48 


OUR   PERILS  BEGIN. 


I  nodded  again. 

"Good  present  got,  eh?  poor  Injin,  eh?" 

"I  have  nothing  but  some  tobacco  I  can  spare,"  I  an- 
swered— of  which  I  still  had  a  pretty  good  supply. 

"Ugh!  backee  good!"  rejoined  the  chief,  with  a 
smile. 

This  was  in  my  sack  on  my  horse,  and  I  was  not  sorry 
of  an  excuse  to  get  to  him  without  showing  m3^self 
suspicious  of  my  new  acquaintances  ;  for  I  had  noticed 
many  a  wistful  glance  cast  in  that  direction  ;  and  I  feared 
lest,  presuming  on  our  weakness,  they  might  think 
proper  to  take  our  animals  and  leave  us  to  make  the  best 
of  it. 

Accordingly  I  informed  the  savage  where  the  article 
was,  and  that  I  must  go  alone  and  get  it. 

"  Why  me  no  go  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Then  your  followers  must  stay  behind." 

"  Why  dey  no  go  ?"  he  inquired,  a  little  angrily  as  I 
thought. 

"Because  I  shall  not  permit  it !"  I  replied,  decisively. 

"Ugh  !  we  so — you  so  !"  he  rejoined,  holding  up  first 
six,  and  then  two  fingers,  to  indicate  the  number  of  each 
party.  "We  strong — you  weak — we  go,  eh?"  and  he 
made  a  step  forward. 

In  an  instant  the  muzzle  of  my  rifle  was  pointed  at 
his  breast,  and  my  finger  on  the  trigger  ;  a  movement 
imitated  by  Teddy,  who  quickly  covered^another. 

"Another  step,  chief,"  I  said,  "and  you  are  a  dead 
man  !" 

"Back,  ye  divils — ye  dirthy  blaggards  ! — don't  yees 
hear  the  gintleman  spaking  to  yees  now  ?"  shouted 
Teddy. 

This  peremptory  decision  had  a  salutary  effect  upon 
the  white-livered  knaves,  who  instantly  shrunk  cowering 
back — the  chief  at  once  exclaiming,  in  a  deprecating 
tone  : 

"  No  shoot.    We  no  go.    You  go." 

Fearing  treachery,  we  instantly  started  for  our 
horses,  keeping  our  faces  to  our  foes,  and  our  rifles 
leveled,  prepared  for  the  worst. 

Having  secured  a  few  plugs  of  tobacco,  we  both 


mounted  and  returned  to  the  savages,  among  whom  1 
made  an  immediate  distribution. 

The  chief  thanked  me,  and  said  they  would  now  go 
home. 

Accordingly,  the  whole  party  set  off  in  one  direction, 
and  we  in  another,  rifles  in  hand. 

Wc  had  scarcely  gone  twenty  paces,  when  crack 
went  a  musket  behind  us,  and  a  ball  whizzed  over  my 
head. 

The  treacherous  scoundrels  !"  I  exclaimed  ;  and 
wheeling  my  horse  as  I  spoke,  I  beheld  the  whole  six 
running  and  dodging  for  their  lives. 

Singling  out  the  villain  that  had  fired  at  us,  I  drew  up 
my  rifle  and  pulled  trigger. 

The  next  moment  he  lay  howling  in  the  dust,  deserted 
by  his  cowardly  friends,  whose  speed  seemed  greatly  ac- 
celerated by  this  event. 

Teddy  would  have  gone  back  for  his  scalp  ;  but  this 
I  would  not  permit,  both  on  account  of  its  barbarity, 
and  because  by  delay  we  might  encounter  another 
party. 

Setting  spurs  to  our  horses,  therefore,  we  dashed 
rapidly  away,  leaving  our  game  and  foes  behind  us,  and 
congratulating  ourselves  upon  our  providential  escape. 

For  the  rest  of  the  day  our  progress  was  by  no  means 
slow,  though  the  traveling  at  times  was  most  execrable. 

The  sun  was  already  throwing  a  long  shade  to  the 
eastward,  when,  ascending  a  rough,  stony  ridge,  which  we 
had  been  forced  to  do  circuitously,  we  beheld  below  us  a 
beautiful  plain,  of  miles  in  length  and  breadth,  along  the 
eastern  portion  of  which  towered  the  lofty  Cascade 
Mountains,  with  the  everlasting  snow-crowned  Mount 
Hood  rising  grandly  above  all,  till  lost  beyond  the 
clouds,  glittering  like  a  pinnacle  of  burnished  silver  in 
the  rays  of  the  sinking  sun.  It  was  a  sublime  and  beauti- 
ful scene  for  the  painter  and  poet,  and  for  many  minutes 
I.  paused  and  gazed  upon  it  with  feelings  of  reverence 
and  awe  for  the  great  Author  of  a  work  so  stupendous. 

Descending  to  the  base  of  the  hill,  we  found  a  suit- 
able place  and  encamped.  Though  greatly  fatigued,  I 
did  not  rest  well ;  and  either  my  thoughts,  or  the  dismal 
3 


5°     A    FRENCH   AND    IRISH  QUARREL. 


bowlings  of  surrounding  wolves,  or  both,  combined  with 
other  circumstances,  kept  me  awake  the  most  of  the 
night. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  FRENCH  AND  IRISH  QUARREL. 

ARLY  the  following  morning  we  were  on  our 
feet  ;  and,  having  partaken  of  a  slight  repast, 
we  mounted  and  set  off  toward  Mount  Hood, 
The  traveling  was  now  good,  being  over  a 
rolling  prairie,  which,  as  we  neared  this  co- 
lossal erection  of  nature,  gradually  became  more  and 
more  level,  so  that,  our  horses  being  refreshed  and  full 
of  fire,  our  speed  was  all  that  could  be  desired  even  by 
the  most  impatient. 

Before  noon  we  reached  the  base  of  Mount  Hood  ; 
and  if  I  had  thought  it  sublime  at  a  distance,  I  now  felt, 
as  it  were,  its  sublimity  in  an  awful  degree.  Up,  up,  up 
it  rose,  until  my  eyes  became  strained  to  trace  its  glisten- 
ing outline  in  the  clear,  blue  ether.  Its  base  was  sur- 
rounded with  sand,  dead  trees  and  broken  rocks,  which 
had  accumulated  there,  perhaps,  by  the  torrents  of  ages, 
as  they  had  rushed  and  roared  down  its  jagged  sides. 
For  a  considerable  distance  above  the  plain  it  was  well 
timbered  ;  then  came  a  long  stretch  of  green  grass  ;  then 
a  long  barren  spot ;  and  then  commenced  the  snow  and 
ice,  which  rose  far  beyond  the  ordinary  height  of  the 
clouds;  the  whole  combined,  forming  a  spectacle  of 
which  the  pen  can  convey  no  adequate  idea.  To  the 
right  and  left  stretched  away  the  Cascades,  which,  stu- 
pendous themselves,  seemed  as  molehills  in  compare 
with  Mount  Hood.  Far  to  the  south  rose  the  lofty  peak 
of  Mount  Jefferson  ;  and  as  far  to  the  north,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Columbia,  that  of  Mount  St.  Helens. 

Havin)^  gazed  upon  the  scene  to  my  satisfaction,  I 


A    FRENCH   AND    IRISH    QUARREL.  5» 


turned  my  horse  to  the  right,  and  began  my  ascent  up  a 
valley,  formed  by  the  partial  meeting  of  two  hills,  and 
down  the  very  bed  (jf  which  roared  a  sparkling  streamlet. 

The  further  I  ascended,  the  more  wild  became  the 
scene,  the  more  precipitous  and  dangerous  the  path.  In 
fact,  on  three  occasions,  we  were  obliged  to  dismount 
and  lead  our  horses  for  a  considerable  distance,  and  once 
our  steps  had  to  be  retraced  for  half  a  mile,  in  order  to 
pass  around  a  frightful  chasm.  Near  the  summit  of  the 
ridge  we  came  upon  a  fine  spring  and  an  abundance  of 
grass.  Here  we  encamped  for  the  night,  during  which 
I  slept  soundly. 

The  following  day  was  cold  and  stormy,  with  sleet  i 
and  snow. 

This  may  surprise  the  reader  who  bears  in  mind  that 
it  was  now  June;  but  snow  storms  on  the  mountains 
are  not  regulated  altogether  by  the  seasons,  and  are  fre- 
quently known  to  occur  in  one  part  of  the  country, 
while  in  another,  not  ten  miles  distant,  the  heat  may  be 
excessive. 

As  all  are  aware,  the  higher  we  ascend,  the  colder  the 
atmosphere  ;  and  on  many  high  mountains,  in  southern 
climes,  there  may  be  all  kinds  of  temperatures,  from  the 
torrid  to  the  frigid — from  the  valley  of  dates,  figs  and 
oranges,  to  the  peaks  of  never-melting  ice  and  snow — 
and  this  within  the  (distance  of  five  or  ten  miles. 

Ere  we  raised  our  camp,  I  shot  a  mountain  goat, 
being  the  first  game  we  had  killed  since  the  buck  of  un- 
favorable memory. 

Of  this  we  prepared  our  breakfast,  and  also  put  a  few 
choice  pieces  in  our  "  possibles,"  leaving  the  balance  to 
the  wolves  ;  which,  in  justice  to  the  appreciation  they 
showed  thereof,  I  may  say  was  nothing  but  a  pile  of 
shining  bones  ere  we  were  fairly  out  of  sight. 

I  now  consulted  an  excellent  map,  which  I  had  pro- 
cured from  one  of  the  emigrants,  and,  referring  to  my 
compass,  laid  my  course  a  little  north  of  east,  so  as  to 
strike  the  Dalles  of  Columbia,  and  thus  the  most  traveled 
route  to  and  from  Oregon  City. 

The  day,  as  I  have  said,  being  stormy,  and  our  route 


52    A    FRENCH   AND   IRISH  QUARREL. 


lying  over  a  wild,  bleak  country,  served  not  a  little  to 
depress  the  spirits  of  both  Teddy  and  myself. 

Nothing  of  consequence  occurred  through  the  day  to 
distract  our  thoughts  from  their  gloomy  channel,  and 
but  little  was  said  by  either. 

By  riding  hard,  we  gained  the  Dalles  that  night,  and 
encamped  on  the  banks  of  the  Columbia. 

Eager  to  arrive  at  Fort  Hall,  we  again  pushed  for- 
ward on  the  succeeding  day,  and,  following  up  the 
Columbia,  reached  Fort  Walla  Walla  on  the  third  from 
our  quitting  the  Dalles,  without  any  events  worthy  of 
particular  note. 

This  fortress,  constructed  on  the  plan  of  Fort  Lara- 
mie, described  in  a  former  chapter,  I  shall  pass  without 
notice,  other  than  to  say  that  it  contained  a  small  garri- 
son of  resolute  and  daring  adventurers,  or  rather  moun- 
taineers and  their  squaw  wives,  who  preferred  passing 
their  lives  here  in  comparative  ease,  at  good  wages,  to 
privations  and  perils  of  trapping  in  the  wilderness. 

Here  I  found  a  number  of  hardy  fellows,  who  had 
lately  "come  in,"  and  who  were  preparing  to  set  off 
again  for  the  Blue  Mountains — some  to  hunt  for  game 
in  the  forests,  and  others  to  trap  in  the  streams. 

Here  were  also  several  friendly  Indians  (friendly 
through  fear  of  the  whites),  the  usual  number  of  traders, 
peddlers,  one  or  two  land  speculators  and  fur  company 
agents,  and  one  French  voyageur — all  more  or  less  en- 
gaged in  drinking,  trafficking  and  gambling,  the  usual 
routine  of  a  gathering  of  this  kind. 

Thinking  it  possible  to  raise  a  party  here,  I  made  a 
proposition  to  several,  but  found  all  had  prior  engage- 
ments. 

I  next  made  some  inquiries  concerning  Black  George  ; 
and  learned,  much  to  my  satisfaction,  that  he  had  been 
seen  quite  recently  on  the  Blue  Mountains  ;  and  that  in 
all  probability  I  should  find  him  at  Fort  Bois,  or  Fort 
Hall,  as  he  was  then  slowly  taking  his  way  eastward. 

"If  you  desire  an  excellent  guide,"  said  an  agent  to 
me,  "let  me  recommend  to  you  Pierre  Boreaux  ;  who, 
though  somewhat  eccentric  at  times,  you  will  find  most 


A    FRENCH   AND    IRISH   QUARREL,  SS 


faithful  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty.  I  have  tried  him, 
sir,  and  know." 

"Just  what  I  desire,"  I  replied. 

**Come,  then,"  he  said;  and  taking  me  aside,  he 
presented  me  to  the  individual  in  question,  wlio  was 
none  other  than  the  French  voyageur  previously  men- 
tioned. 

He  was  a  small,  dapper  personage,  very  neat  in  his 
appearance,  with  a  keen,  restless  black  eye,  and  a  physi- 
ognomy more  inclined  to  merriment  than  melancholy. 
His  age  was  about  forty,  though  he  ever  took  pains  to 
appear  much  younger.  His  penchaiit  was  for  the  wild 
and  daring,  and  never  was  he  so  well  contented  as  when 
engaged  in  some  perilous  enterprise.  This,  taken  in  con- 
nection with  his  jovial  turn  of  mind,  may  at  first  seem 
paradoxical  ;  but  it  must  be  remembered,  that  most  per- 
sons incline  less  to  their  likes  than  their  opposites  ;  and 
that  the  humorist  is  the  man  who  seldom  smiles,  while 
the  man  of  gravest  sayings  may  be  literally  a 
laughing  philosopher.  He  was  much  addicted,  too,  to 
taking  snuff,  of  which  he  always  managed  to  have  a 
good  stock  on  hand,  so  that  his  silver  box  and  handker- 
chief were  in  requisition  on  almost  all  occasions.  He 
spoke  with  great  volubility,  in  broken  English,  generally 
interlarded  with  French,  accompanied  with  all  the 
peculiar  shrugs  and  gesticulations  of  his  countrymen. 
He  was,  in  short,  a  serio-comical,  singular  being,  of 
whom  I  can  convey  no  better  idea  than  to  let  him  speak 
and  act  for  himself. 

Ah,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  my  salutation, 
taking  a  huge  pinch  of  snuff  the  while  and  bowing  very 
politely;  "  ver  moche  happee  make  you  acquaintones.  Vill 
you  'ave  von — vot  you  call  him — happenese,  eh? — to  take 
von  leettle — I  forgot  him — so — (putting  his  thumb  and 
finger  together,  to  indicate  a  pinch) — avec  moi,  eh  ?" 

"  Thank  you,"  I  returned,  I  never  use  the  article  in 
that  shape." 

"  Ver  sorre  hear  him.    Vous  remembare  le  grand 
Empereur  Napoleone,  eh?" 
"  Ay." 

"  Ah  !  von  plus  great  sheneral  him.    He  take  snoof, 


54    A    FRENCH  AND   IRISH  QUARREL. 


ell  ?  Veil,  you  speak  now — you — you — vot  you  call  him 
— bussiness,  eh  ?" 

"  I  wish  to  engage  you,"  I  replied,  "  to  go  on  a  journey 
full  of  peril  in  the  capacity  of  a  guide." 

"  Ou  allez-vous  ?  " 
How  ?" 

Ah,  pardonnez-moi  !    I  say,  vere  you  go  ?" 
"  To  Mexico,  perhaps." 

"  Oui,  Monsieur — I  shall  be  vere  moche  delight — I 
certainment  assure  you.    Ven  you  go,  eh  ?" 

"  I  leave  here,  en  route  for  Fort  Hall,  at  daylight  to- 
morrow." 

Here  the  Frenchman  took  one  or  two  hasty  pinches 
of  his  favorite,  and,  closing  his  box,  said  : 

"  Von  leetle  absence,  Monsieur  ;  I  sail  'ave  von  ver 
moche  pleasure  ;"  and  off  he  skipped,  as  gay  as  a  lark,  to 
prepare  himself  for  the  journey. 

At  daylight  on  the  succeeding  morning  the  French- 
man was  at  his  post,  well  mounted  on  a  full-blooded 
Indian  pony,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  really  looking  quite 
the  warrior. 

Three  minutes  later  we  had  all  passed  the  gate  and 
were  speeding  away. 

This  was  the  first  meeting  between  Teddy  and 
Pierre  ;  and  I  soon  became  aware  it  was  anything  but  a 
pleasant  one,  particularly  on  the  part  of  Teddy,  who 
cast  many  a  furtive  glance  upon  the  other,  expressive  of 
dislike. 

What  this  arose  from — whether  from  jealousy,  national 
prejudice,  or  contempt  for  the  inferior  proportions  of 
Pierre — I  was  at  a  loss  to  determine.  Never  before 
had  I  seen  animosity  to  a  fellow-traveler  so  strongly  de- 
picted on  the  features  of  the  faithful  Teddy.  It  might 
be  he  fancied  the  Frenchman  of  equal  grade  with  him- 
self, and  was  jealous  of  his  supplanting  him  in  my  favor, 
and  this  seemed  the  most  probable  of  the  three  suggested 
causes. 

Pierre,  however,  showed  no  ill-will  to  the  Irishman, 
but  merely  returned  his  glances  with  a  supercilious  look, 
as  thoiigli  he  considered  him  his  inferior. 

But  he  could  not  long  remain  silent ;  and  so,  after 


A    FRENCH   AND    JRISIl    QUARREL.  55 


riding  on  briskly  fora  short  distance,  he  turned  to  Teddy, 
and  with  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  liis  small,  black  eye, 
said,  with  much  suavity  : 

"  Parlcz  vous  Frangais  ?" 
Spake  it  in  Inglish,  ye  spalpeen  !  and  thin  a  gintle- 
man  can  answer  yees  !"  replied  Teddy,  reddening  with 
vexation.  If  it's  frog  language  ye's  jabbering,  sure 
it's  not  mesilf  as  wants  to  know  what  ye  says,  now." 
•  "  Que  voulez-vous.  Monsieur  ?"  inquired  the  French- 
man, looking  slyly  at  me,  with  a  significant  shrug,  and 
secretly  enjoying  the  discomfiture  of  Teddy. 

"  Quack,  quack,  quack,  kither  hoben  !"  rejoined  Teddy, 
fiercely.  "  Sure,  now,  and  is  it  that  ye  can  understand 
yoursilf,  ye  thafe?  It's  maybe  smart,  now,  ye's  afther 
thinking  yoursilf,  by  token  ye  can  say  things  I  don't 
know  the  maaning  of.  And  so  ye  is  smart,  barring  the 
foolish  part,  which  comprehinds  the  whole  of  yees. 
Troth!  can  ye  fight,  Misther  Frog-ater  ?  Come,  now, 
that's  Inglish  ;  and,  by  St.  Pathrick's  bones,  I'll  wager 
ye're  too  much  of  a  coward  to  know  the  maaning  on't  !" 

"  Come,  come,  Teddy,"  I  said,  "  you  are  getting  per- 
sonal.   I  can  allow  no  quarreling." 

"Och!  there's  no  danger,  your  honor!"  returned 
Teddy,  turning  upon  Pierre  a  withering  look  of  con- 
tempt. "  It's  not  iny  frog-ater  as  is  going  to  fight  his 
bethers,  and  sure  it's  not  Teddy  O'Lagherty  as  can  fight 
alone,  jist." 

Meantime  there  had  been  a  quiet,  half  smile  resting  on 
the  features  of  the  Frenchman,  as  though  he  was  secretly 
enjoying  a  fine  joke.  Even  the  abusive  language  of  the 
excited  Irishman  did  not  appear  to  disturb  his  equanim- 
ity in  the  least.  There  he  sat,  as  cool  and  apparently  as 
indifferent  as  if  nothing  derogatory  to  liis  fighting  pro- 
pensities had  been  uttered,  or  at  least  understood  by  him. 

I  was  beginning  in  fact  to  think  the  latter  was  the 
case,  or  else  that  Teddy  was  more  than  half  right  in  call- 
ing him  a  coward,  when  1  became  struck  with  a  peculiar 
expression,  which  suddenly  swept  over  his  bronzed  feat- 
ures, and  was  superseded  by  the  same  quiet  smile— as  we 
sometimes  at  noon-day  see  a  cloud  flit  over  a  bright  land- 
scape, shading  it  for  an  instant  only. 


S6    A    FRENCH   AND    IRISH  QUARREL. 


Suddenly  Pierre  reined  his  pony  close  alongside  of 
Teddy,  and,  in  a  very  bland  voice,  as  if  begging  a  favor, 
said  : 

"Monsieur,  you  say  someting  'bout  fight,  eh?  Sare, 
I  sail  'ave  le  plus  grande  delight  to  soot  you  with  un — 
vot  you  call  him — peestole,  eh  ?" 

**The  divil  ye  will,  now?"  replied  Teddy,  with  a  com- 
ical look  of  surprise.  *'  Sure,  thin,  an'  it's  mesilf  that  ud 
like  to  be  doing  the  same  to  yoursilf,  and  ye  was  worth 
the  powther  it  ud  cost." 

"Sare,"  returned  the  Frenchman,  with  dignity,  "in 
my  coontree,  ven  gentilshommes  go  for  kill,  dey  nevare 
count  ze  cost.  I  soot  you — I  cut  you  troat — I  sharge  you 
notings." 

"Well,  be  jabers  !  since  ye've  got  your  foul  tongue 
into  Inglish,  and  be  blamed  toyees,  I'll  do  the  same  for 
your  dirthy  silf  !"  retorted  Teddy  ;  "  for  it's  not  Teddy 
O'Lagherty  as  '11  be  behind  aven  a  iiager  in  liberalithies 
of  that  sort,  now." 

"  You  are  both  too  liberal  of  your  valor  by  half,"  I 
rejoined,  laughing  at  what  I  thought  would  merely  end 
in  words. 

But  I  was  soon  convinced  of  my  error  ;  for  scarcely 
had  the  expression  left  my  lips,  when  the  Frenchman 
sprung  from  his  pony,  and,  striking  his  hand  on  his 
pistols,  exclaimed  : 

"Je  I'attaquerai  :  I  will  'ave  at  you.  Monsieur,  ven 
you  do  me  von  leetle  honoor,  sare  !" 

"  It's  not  long  you'll  have  to  wait  thin  !"  cried  Teddy  ; 
and  before  I  could  interfere — or  in  fact  was  fully  aware 
of  what  was  taking  place — he  had  dismounted  and  drawn 
a  pistol.  "Tin  paces,  ye  blaggard  !"  he  cried  ;  "and  may 
the  saints  be  marciful  to  yees  !" 

"  Hold  !"  I  shouted.  "  Rash  men,  what  are  you  about  ? 
1  foibid— " 

Here  I  was  interrupted  by  the  reports  of  two  pistols, 
followed  by  a  stifled  cry  of  pain  from  Pierre,  who  in- 
stantly dropped  his  weapon  and  placed  his  hand  to  his 
shoulder. 

The  next  moment  I  was  on  my  feet,  and  rushing  to 
his  assistance,  accompanied  by  Teddy,  whose  features, 


A    FRENCJr    AND    IRISH    QUARREL.  57 


instead  of  anger,  now  exhibited  a  look  of  commisera- 
tion. 

"Are  you  hurt,  Pierre ?"  I  incjuirccl,  as  I  gained  his 
side. 

"  Ver  leetle  scratch,"  replied  tlie  Frenchman,  taking 
away  his  hand  covered  with  blood. 

I  instantly  tore  away  his  garments,  and  ascertained 
that  the  ball  of  Teddy  had  passed  quite  through  the  fleshy 
part  of  his  arm  near  the  shoulder,  but  without  breaking  a 
bone  or  severing  an  artery. 

"  A  lucky  escape,  Pierre  !"  I  said. 

He  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  coolly  pro- 
ceeded to  take  snuff,  with  an  indifference  that  surprised 
me. 

When  he  had  done,  he  turned  to  Teddy,  with  : 

"  Vill  you  'ave  von  more — vot  you  call  him — le  plus 
grand  satisfactoine,  eh  ?" 

"  Sure,  and  it's  mesilf  as  is  not  over-parthicular,  iny 
ways.  If  ye's  satisfied,  Fm  con  tint — or  conthrariwise,  as 
plases  ye  most." 

"  Veil,  den,  suppose  we  shake  hand,  eh  ?"  rejoined 
Pierre.  "  I  soot  you — you  soot  me  :  ve  'ave  both  satis- 
factione,  eh  ?"  and  the  next  moment  these  two  singular 
beings  were  pleasantly  engaged  in  complimenting  each 
other  on  his  bravery. 

Oh,  curious  human  nature  !  From  that  moment 
Pierre  Boreaux  and  Teddy  O'Lagherty  were  sworn 
friends  for  life — nor  did  I  ever  hear  an  angry  word  pass 
between  them  afterward. 


58  A    DISMAL  NIGHT. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  GOOD  JOKE  AND  A  DISMAL  NIGHT. 

^^^^lUR SUING  our  course  along  the  banks  of  the 
;;:;«^|^L:  Walla- Walla,  we  passed  Dr.  Whitman's  Sta- 
9^^^^:  tion,  and  camped  the  following  night  in  a 
QS^^p^"  romantic  dell  at  the  foot  of  a  ridge  adjoining 
the  Grand  Round. 
In  the  course  of  the  evening  we  were  visited  by  sev- 
eral Indians,  with  whom  we  held  a  small  traffic  for  pro- 
visions. For  fear  of  evil  consequences,  we  kept  well  on 
our  guard,  but  they  displayed  no  hostile  intentions.  . 

Pierre  complained  somewhat  of  his  arm,  which  I  had 
bandaged  at  the  time  as  well  as  circumstances  would  per- 
mit. I  advised  him  to  consult  the  Indians,  who  are 
known  to  be  great  proficients  in  the  healing  art.  He  did 
so,  and  the  result  proved  highly  beneficial  ;  so  much  so 
that  he  was  able  to  use  it  sooner  than  I  expected. 

The  next  day  we  crossed  the  Grand  Round  (a  delight- 
ful valley  of  twenty  miles  in  extent,  watered  by  a 
pleasant  stream),  also  the  Blue  Mountains,  and  descended 
into  the  valley  of  the  Snake  River. 

The  scenes  we  passed  over  were,  many  of  them,  wild, 
and  some  of  them  romantic  in  the  extreme  ;  but  as  more 
important  matters  press  upon  me,  I  cannot  pause  to  de- 
scribe them. 

The  Indians  we  now  beheld  on  every  side  of  us — but 
they  olfered  no  violence. 

The  third  day  from  crossing  the  Grand  Round,  we 
reached  Fort  Bois,  where  we  passed  tlie  night. 

The  next  morning  we  pursued  our  journey  ;  having 
learned,  meantime,  that  Black  George,  for  whom  I  made 
particular  inquiries,  had  passed  here  a  few  days  before, 
in  company  with  two  other  trappers,  on  their  way  to 
Fort  Hall. 

This  was  cheering  news  to  me;  and  we  pushed 'for- 


A    DISMAL  NIGHT. 


59 


ward,  as  fast  as  circumstances  would  permit,  in  the  hope 
of  overtaking  him. 

About  noon  of  the  third  day  from  leaving  Fort  Bois, 
we  came  upon  some  half  a  dozen  fine-looking  springs, 
when  Teddy  declared  he  must  quench  his  thirst. 

As  he  descended  from  his  horse,  the  Frenchman 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  gave  me  a  very  significant 
wink. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Pierre?"  I  inquired,  fully  at  a 
loss  to  comprehend  what  seemed  to  him  a  capital  joke. 

"  Paix  !  le  diable  !"  he  exclaimed,  laying  his  hand  on 
my  arm  and  pointing  to  Teddy,  who,  having  reached  a 
spring,  was  just  in  the  act  of  bending  down  to  the  water. 
"  Monsieur  sail  see." 
•     "  See  ?"  I  repeated. 
Oui,  Monsieur." 

"  What  shall  I  see?" 
Och  !  howly  Moses  !  be  St.  Pathrick  !  jabers  !" 
cried  Teddy  at  this  moment,  springing  to  his  feet  and 
running  toward  us  with  all  his  fleetness,  holding  his 
tongue  with  one  hand  and  pressing  the  other  upon  his 
forehead.  "  Och  !  murther  !  I'm  dead  intirely— bit — ate 
up — claan  killed,  I  is  !" 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  I  inquired,  unable  to  com- 
prehend the  meaning  of  such  strange  actions,  while 
Pierre  leaned  forward  on  his  saddle  and  held  both  hands 
upon  his  sides,  fairly  screaming  with  laughter. 

"Mather,  is't?"  rejoined  Teddy.  "  Musha  !  but  it's 
mather  intirely.  Me  tongue's  burnt  out  of  me,  jist,  bar- 
ring about  sax  inches  on't." 

"Burned,  Teddy  ?" 

"  Ay,  burnt,  your  honor — that's  the  wor-r-d  now.  Sure, 
that's  the  divil's  pool,  and  so  it  is,  and  it's  himsilf  must 
be  hereabouts.  Och  !  but  I'm  in  a  hurry  to  lave  the 
spot  betimes  ;"  and  springing  into  his  saddle  he  rode 
away,  in  spite  of  my  calls  to  the  contrary,  as  fast  as  his 
beast  could  carry  him. 

"  What  is  it,  Pierre  ?"  I  exclaimed  ;  but  Pierre  was 
too  much  convulsed  to  answer  me ;  and,  dismounting,  I 
approached  the  miraculous  water  myself. 

Now  I  understood  the  joke  ;  and,  to  do  myself  jus- 


6o 


A    DISMAL  NIGHT, 


tice,  I  must  say  I  so  far  imitated  the  Frenchman  tliat  1 
was  unable  to  quit  the  spot  for  at  least  ten  minutes. 

In  his  eager  desire  for  a  cool,  refreshing  draught, 
Teddy  had  plunged  his  face  down  into  and  gulped  in  a 
mouthful  of  boiling  water,  from  what  are  known  as  the 
Hot  Springs. 

Of  these  springs  there  are  some  five  or  six,  the  water 
of  which  bubbles  up  clear  and  sparkling,  and,  all  meeting, 
form  a  small  stream,  which  rolls  away  with  a  pleasing 
murmur. 

No  wonder  Teddy,  not  understanding  the  phenome- 
non, and  being  superstitious  too,  should  imagine  Old 
Nick  had  something  to  do  with  it. 

"  Veil,  you  see,  eh  ?"  exclaimed  Pierre,  as  I  remounted. 
''By  gar!  him  von  ver  moche  good  joke!  He  tink  h^ 
von  diable,  eh  ?"  and  he  ended  with  another  hearty 
laugh,  in  which  I  was  forced  to  join. 

About  three  miles  further  on  we  overtook  Teddy, 
whose  running  ardor  had  cooled  down  to  a  quiet  walk. 

''  Ah,  faith,"  said  he,  dolefully,  "it's  mighty  feared  I's 
beginning  to  git  that  ye'd  not  come  at  all,  at  all." 

"  Why  so,  Teddy  ?" 

"  Oh,  worra  !  worra  !  that  I  should  iver  live  to  taste 
the  divil's  pool  !  And  did  ye  sae  him,  body  and  bones, 
your  honor  ? — and  how  did  he  look,  if  it's  all  the  same  to 
yees,  and  he  no  forbid  your  tilling  rasonably  ?" 

"  Why,  Teddy,  there  was  nothing  to  be  alarmed  at ;" 
and  I  proceeded  to  explain  the  mystery.  "  It  is  a  very 
natural  phenomenon,  I  assure  you." 

"Nath'ral,  is  it?  Och !  thin  I  have  it,  'pon  me 
sowl  !" 

"  Have  what  ?" 

«  Why,  sure,  your  honor,  I  sae  claan  through  it." 
"  Well,  what  do  you  see,  Teddy  ?" 
"  Musha  !  but  it's  the  divil's  tae-pot." 
"Tea-pot  ?" 

Ah  !  troth  and  it  is.  Ould  Sathan  is  at  the  bothom 
of  it,  do  yees  mind  !  He  haats  the  wather  there,  now,  to 
coax  saints  to  dhrink  tae  wid  him,  the  spalpeen  !  and  thin 
he'll  make  the  most  of  'em,  d'ye  sae,  your  honor  !  Och  ! 
it's  a  lucky  man  Teddy  O'Lagherty  is  for  gitting  off  so 


A    DISMAL  NIGHT. 


asy,  barring  he's  more  unlucky  by  token  he  vvint  to  ihe 
place  at  all,  at  all." 

It  had  become  a  fixed  fact  with  Teddy,  which  all  my 
jests  and  arguments  failed  to  alter,  that  the  Hot  Springs 
and  his  Satanic  Majesty  were  indissolubly  connected. 

But  this  did  not  lessen  tiie  j(^ke,  which  for  a  longtime 
afterward  served  Pierre  and  myself  as  a  specific  for  blue 
devils  and  ennui. 

As  I  said  before,  we  were  traveling  through  a  country 
thickly  peopled  with  savages.  What  we  had  seen  of  these 
appeared  to  be  friendly  ;  but  knowing  the  treacherous 
nature  of  many,  we  felt  that  self-preservation  demanded 
we  should  at  all  times  be  on  our  guard. 

For  this  purpose  our  arms  were  always  ready  to  our 
hands  in  the  day-time,  and  at  night  each  took  his  turn  of 
standing  sentinel. 

Thus  far  we  had  escaped  every  difficulty  ;  but  Pierre 
often  warned  us  not  to  be  too  sanguine  of  reaching  Fort 
Hall  without  a  brush  of  some  kind,  as  he  well  knew  the 
nature  of  those  surrounding  us. 

The  sun  was  just  sinking  behind  the  Blue  Mountains, 
when  we  came  to  a  small  stream,  a  tributary  of  Snake 
River,  that  took  its  devious  course  through  a  valley  be- 
tween two  precipitous  ridges,  and  thence  through  a 
canon  of  a  thousand  feet  in  depth. 

The  valley  was  shaded  by  large  trees  of  various  kinds, 
and  was  romantic  in  its  appearance.  It  contained  good 
grazing  also,  and  good  water,  and  this  made  it  a  desirable 
camp-ground. 

Hoppling  our  horses  and  setting  them  free,  we  kin- 
dled a  fire,  around  which  we  squatted  to  cook  our  meat, 
smoke  our  pipes,  and  fill  up  the  intervals  with  the  most 
amusing  subjects,  among  which  Teddy  and  his^'divil's 
tae-pot"  came  in  for  their  full  quota  of  mirthful  com- 
ment. 

At  length  we  began  to  grow  drowsy  ;  and  having 
seen  our  animals  tethered  wuthin  the  circle  of  the  fire, 
and  it  being  Pierre's  turn  to  stand  guard,  Teddy  and  I 
threw  ourselves  upon  the  ground,  our  blankets  rolled 
around  us,  and  soon  were  fast  asleep. 


62 


A    DISMAL  NIGHT. 


For  an  hour  or  two  everything  passed  off  quietly, 
when  Pierre  awoke  me  with  a  gentle  shake. 

Ver  sorre,  Monsieur,  to — vot  you  call  him — deesturb 
you,  eh  ? — but  ze  tam  Injen — sacre  le  diable  !" 

"Well,"  said  I,  starting  up,  "  w^hat  is  it?  Are  we 
attacked  ?"  and  at  the  same  time  I  awoke  Teddy. 

By  gar,"  returned  the  Frenchman,  "  I  see  von  leetle 
— vot  you  call  him — sneaker,  eh  ?  Him  creep — creep — 
creep — and  I  tink  I  wake  you,  sare,  and  soot  him  dead  !" 

"Faith,  that's  it?"  cried  Teddy,  grasping  his  rifle 
and  springing  to  his  feet  :  "  that's  it,  now  !  Shoot  the 
haythen  !" 

By  this  time  I  was  fully  aroused  to  the  sense  of  danger  ; 
and  quickly  learning  from  Pierre  where  he  had  seen  the 
savage,  I  grasped  my  rifle  and  sprung  beyond  the  fire- 
light, in  an  opposite  direction,  followed  by  my  com- 
panions. 

We  had  not  gained  ten  paces,  when  crack,  crack, 
went  some  ^ve  or  six  muskets,  the  balls  of  which, 
whizzing  over  our  heads,  did  not  tend  to  lessen  our 
speed. 

We  reached  the  covert  unharmed,  however,  and  for 
the  time  considered  ourselves  safe. 

When  we  turned  to  reconnoiter,  not  a  sign  of  a  living 
thing  could  we  see  save  our  horses,  which  stood  with 
ears  erect,  trembling  and  snorting,  as  if  conscious  of  a 
hidden  foe. 

For  an  hour  we  remained  in  this  manner  ;  when,  con- 
cluding the  enemy  had  departed,  I  proposed  returning  to 
the  fire. 

"  Hist  !"  whispered  Pierre,  grasping  my  arm.  "  You 
sail  see.  Monsieur." 

And  he  was  right  ;  for,  not  ten  minutes  afterward,  he 
silently  directed  my  attention  to  some  dark  objects  lying 
flat  upon  the  ground,  which,  with  all  my  experience  and 
penetration,  I  could  not  believe  were  savages,  until  I 
perceived  them  gradually  nearing  our  horses.  Then  I 
became  alarmed,  lest,  reaching  them,  they  might  speedily 
mount  and  escape,  leaving  us  to  make  the  best  of  a  peril 
ous  and  toilsome  journey  on  foot. 


A    DISMAL  NiGJIT. 


• 


"  What  is  to  be  done,  Pierre  ?    I  fear  wc  are  in  a  bad 
fix." 

"  Je  me  couche — je  tire  fur  Ini  ;  I  lie  down  sarc — I 
soot  at  him.  Yon  sail  see.  Stay  von  leetle  minneet. 
Ven  you  hears  my  canon,  den  you  soot  and  run  at  fiim 
as  le  diable." 

Saying  this,  Pierre  glided  away  as  noiselessly  as  an  i 
Indian,  and  I  saw  nothing  more  of  him  for  several 
minutes. 

Meanwhile  Teddy  and  I  kept  our  eyes  intently  fixed 
upon  our  stealthy  foes,  and  our  rifles  in  rest,  ready  to 
give  them  their  deadly  contents  at  a  moment's  warning. 

Slowly,  like  a  cat  creeping  upon  her  game,  did  these 
half-naked  Indians,  serpent-like,  steal  toward  our  ani- 
mals, every  moment  lessening  the  distance  between  them 
and  the  objects  of  their  desires. 

I  began  to  grow  nervous.  What  had  become  of 
Pierre  ?  If  he  intended  to  do  anything,  now  I  thought 
was  the  time  ;  a  few  moments  more,  and  it  would  be  too 
late  ;  and,  acting  upon  this  thought,  I  drew  a  bead  upon 
the  most  advanced  savage,  and  was  about  pulling  the 
trigger,  when  the  latter  suddenly  bounded  to  his  feet, 
uttered  a  yell  of  delight,  and  sprung  toward  the  now 
frightened  animals,  imitated  in  his  manoeuvre  by  some 
ten  or  twelve  others. 

"  Good  Heaven  !  all  is  lost !"  I  exclaimed,  bitterly. 

The  words  had  scarcely  passed  my  lips,  when  bang 
went  a  pistol  from  among  the  horses  ;  and  the  foremost 
savage — the  one  I  had  singled  out,  and  who  was  on  the 
point  of  grasping  one  of  the  tether  ropes — bounded  into 
the  air,  with  a  horrible  yell,  and  fell  back  a  corpse. 

This  was  wholly  unlooked  for  by  his  companions,  and 
checked  for  an  instant  those  pressing  on  behind. 

Remembering  Pierre's  request,  I  whispered  to  Teddy 
to    throw  "  his  man  and  charge. 

Both  our  rifles  spoke  together,  and  down  tumbled 
two  more. 

At  the  same  moment  Pierre's  rifle  sent  another  to  his 
account ;  and,  simultaneously  springing  forward,  all  three 
of  us  made  the  welkin  ring  with  our  shouts  of  joy  and 
defiance. 


64 


A   DISMAL  NIGHT. 


This  settled  the  matter  to  our  triumph.  The  Indians 
became  alarmed  and  bewildered.  They  had  counted  on 
certain  success  in  stealing  our  horses  without  the  loss  of 
a  man.  Four  had  fallen  in  twice  as  many  seconds  ;  and 
fancying  themselves  in  an  ambuscade,  they  turned,  with 
wild  yells  of  affright,  and  disappeared  in  every  direction  ; 
so  that  by  the  time  I  had  joined  Pierre,  we  were 
masters  of  the  field,  and  not  an  unwounded  foe  in 
sight. 

"  You  see  hoss  safe,  Monsieur,"  said  Pierre,  hurriedly, 
as  we  met  ;  "  and  I  see  to  ze  Injen,  eh  ?"  and  without  wait- 
ing for  a  reply,  he  darted  forward,  and  the  next  moment 
was  engaged  in  tearing  off  the  bloody  scalps  of  the 
slain. 

As  every  mountaineer  considers  this  his  prerogative, 
I  did  not  interfere  ;  but  ordering  Teddy  to  assist  me,  we 
cut  the  lariats  and  led  our  horses  back  into  the  darkness, 
for  fear  of  another  attack,  in  which  we  might  come  out 
second  best. 

In  a  few  minutes  Pierre  approached  me  leisurely,  and 
laughingly  said  : 

"Tout  va  bien  :  All  pe  veil,  sare  and  he  held  up  to 
the  light  four  bloody  scalps.  "Von,  two,  tree,  not  pe 
dead,  I  kill  him.  Good  for — vot  you  call  him — stealer, 
eh  ? — ha,  ha,  ha  !"  and  taking  out  his  box,  he  deliber- 
ately proceeded  to  take  snuff  with  his  bloody  fingers  ; 
adding,  by  way  of  accompaniment :  "  Von  good  ver  moche 
exsallant  joke,  him — ha,  ha,  ha  !  Sacre  !  me  tink  him 
get  von  leetle — vot  you  call  him — astonishment,  eh  ?  By 
gar  !  ver  moche  good." 

As  we  did  not  consider  it  prudent  to  venture  again 
within  the  fire-light,  we  decided  to  remain  where  we 
were  through  the  night,  and  guard  against  a  surprise. 

All  was  dark  around  us,  except  in  the  direction  of  the 
roaring  fire,  which,  flickering  to  the  passing  breeze,  made 
the  scene  of  our  late  encampment  look  dismal  enough. 

To  add  to  its  gloom  and  cheerlessness,  we  were  pres- 
ently greeted  with  the  distant  howl  of  a  hungry  pack  of 
wolves.  Every  moment  these  howls  grew  louder,  show- 
ing the  animals  were  approaching  the  spot,  while  our 


A    DISMAL  NIGHT. 


65 


horses  snorted  and  became  so  rcslivc  we  could  scarcely 
hold  them 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  hungry  beasts  of  prey, 
till  at  length  we  could  perceive  their  fiery  eyeballs,  and 
occasionally  catch  a  glimpse  of  their  bodies,  as  they  hov- 
ered around  the  circle  of  the  fire,  fearing  to  approach  the 
carcasses  they  so  much  coveted. 

For  an  hour  or  two  they  prowled  and  howled  around 
us,  "  making  night  hideous  with  their  orgies,"  while  the 
fire  gradually  grew  less  and  less  bright,  the  gloom  deep- 
ened, and  their  boldness  increased  accordingly. 

At  last  one,  unable  longer  to  bear  the  keen  pangs  of 
hunger,  leaped  forward  and  buried  his  teeth  and  claws  in 
the  carcass  of  one  of  our  late  foes  ;  the  others  followed 
his  example  ;  and  in  less  than  a  minute  as  many  as  fifty 
of  these  ravenous  animals  were  growling,  fighting, 
gnashing  their  teeth,  and  tearing  the  flesh  from  the 
bones  of  the  dead  Indians. 

Pierre  now  informed  me  we  were  in  imminent  danger 
of  being  attacked  ourselves — as,  having  once  tasted 
blood,  and  their  appetites  being  rather  sharpened  than 
appeased,  they  would  only  become  more  bold  in  con- 
sequence. 

To  my  inquiry  as  to  what  should  be  done,  he  replied 
that  we  must  continue  to  kill  one  of  their  number  as  fast 
as  he  might  be  devoured  by  his  companions  ;  and,  setting 
the  example,  he  shot  one  forthwith. 

Sure  enough  !  no  sooner  had  the  beast  fallen,  than 
the  rest  sprung  upon  and  devoured  him. 

My  rifle  being  loaded,  I  knocked  over  another,  which 
met  the  same  fate  ! 

In  this  manner  we  kept  firing  alternately  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  during  which  time  the  old  stock  was  replen- 
ished by  new-comers,  and  I  began  to  fancy  that  all  of  the 
genus  would  be  present  before  daylight. 

But  at  last  one  after  another  got  satisfied,  and  slunk 
away,  licking  his  chaps.  No  new  ones  appeared  ;  and, 
ere  the  stars  grew  dim,  nothing  was  visible  of  the  last 
night's  butchery  but  a  collection  of  clean-licked,  shiny 
bones. 

"^Vhile  the  fire  lasted,  we  could  see  to  take  sight ;  but 
4 


66  THE    OLD    TRAPPER  AGAIN, 


after  that  went  out,  we  fired  at  random  ;  though,  .know- 
ing the  exact  location  of  the  beasts,  our  shots  generally 
proved  successful  in  killing  or  wounding. 

When  morning  again  put  a  smiling  face  upon  the 
recent  sable  earth,  we  mounted  our  horses  and  left  the 
loathsome  spot,  thanking  God  for  our  providential  de- 
liverance. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   OLD   TRAPPER  AGAIN. 

^^^^^T  was  a  warm,  pleasant  afternoon  in  June  that 
S/llaf  came  in  sight  of  Fort  Hall,  which  we 

^flK     ^3,iled  with  three  cheers  of  delight ;  and,  set- 
r^&&^     ting  spurs  to  our  horses,  in  less  than  half  an 
hour  we  rode  gayly  through  the  gates. 
As  we  entered  the  area,  which,  though  much  smaller, 
was  fashioned  like  Fort  Laramie,  I  perceived  a  small 
group  of  mountaineers  or  trappers,  among  whom  were 
two  or  three  Indians,  all  apparently  engaged  in  some  im- 
portant traffic.    The  next  moment  I  heard  a  well-known 
voice  exclaim  : 

"  It's  done  gone  then,  or  I'm  no  snakes  ;  and  heyar's 
what  never  backs  for  nobody  and  nothin'  !" 

The  next  moment  the  speaker  sauntered  toward  me, 
just  as  I  had  dismounted  from  my  horse. 

As  he  approached,  he  looked  me  steadily  in  the  face 
for  a  moment ;  and  then,  springing  forward,  with  hand 
extended  and  flashing  eyes,  he  fairly  shouted  : 

"Bosson  !  for  a  thousand  wild  cats  !  I'll  be  dog-gone 
ef  it  ain't!"  and,  ere  the  sentence  was  concluded,  my 
hand  was  suffering  under  the  powerful  but  welcome 
pressure  of  that  of  Black  George.  "Wall,"  he  added, 
"  I'll  be  teetotal  rumflumuxed,  ef  I  don't  think  you're  a 
trump,  and  a  ace  at  that !    Whar  d'ye  come  from  now  ? 


rJIK    OLD    TRAP  PER  AGAIN, 


67 


;ind  vvliicli  way's  ycni  goin' ?  cf  it's  not  tallied  on  a  pri 
vatc  stick." 

"  I  came  direct  from  Oregon  City,"  I  answered,  by  no 
means  backward  in  displaying  my  delight  at  meeting 
him  again. 

"Whar's  the  garls  ?" 
"  Left  them  all  behind  me." 
Augh  !    S'pect  you  left  your  heart  thar  too,  eh  ?" 
Possibly." 

"  I'd  sw'ar  it.  Wall,  boss,  I  don't  blame  ye.  Them's 
about  as  nice  human  picters  as  ever  this  critter  seed.  Ef 
I'd  a  ben  thirty  year  younger,  I  mought  hev  got  into 
^  deep  water  thar  myself  and  lost  the  whole  kit.  How- 
somever,  this  coon  never  tried  treein'  a  garl  but  once't — 
and  Suke  Harris  soon  blowed  damp  weather  on  to  my 
powder,  and  it  warn't  no  shoot,  nohow — augh  !  Wall, 
wall,"  he  added,  with  something  like  a  sigh,  "  them's 
by-gones  anyhow,  and  s'pect  it's  all  for  the  best ;  'case  I'm 
an  old  dog,  and  lead  a  wanderin'  life  ;  and  when  I  kind 
o'  git  rubbed  out — why,  ye  see,  I  hain't  got  no  pups  nor 
nothin'  to  be  a  barkin'  over  my  last  roost." 

Here  Black  George  coughed  a  little,  and  turned  aside 
his  head,  when  his  eyes  chanced  upon  Teddy  and  Pierre, 
Who,  having  dismounted  at  another  part  of  the  inclosure, 
were  now  approaching  to  join  me. 

"  Why,  hello,  boss  !  how  goes  it  ?"  continued  the  old 
trapper,  addressing  the  Irishman  and  extending  his 
hand.  "And  here's  Pierre,  too,  lookin'  as  nateral  as  a 
young  cub  ;  and  I'll  be  dog-gone  ef  that  same  old  smell- 
box  ain't  jest  whar  it  used  to  was,  a  reg'lar  fortress, 
makin'  his  fingers  runners  'twixt  it  and  his  nose.  Augh  ! 
gin  us  a  chawr  and  see  the  ginteel  done." 

Faith,  ye're  the  same  ould  chap  !"  rejoined  Teddy, 
grasping  one  hand,  while  the  Frenchman  took  the  other. 
"  Sure  and  it's  good  for  sore  eyes  to  sae  the  likes  o'  yees 
ag'in  !" 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  Blake  Shorge,"  added  Pierre,  "  it 
give  me  von  ver  moche  le  plus  grande  delight,  for — vot 
you  call  him — discoverment  you,  eh?  Ver  exceeding 
moche  glad,  by  gar  !" 


THE    OLD    TRAPPER  AGAIN. 


As  soon  as  the  congratulations  were  over  on  all 
sides,  Black  George  turned  to  me  with  : 

"  Well,  Bosson,  hearn  anything  o'  your  pardner  ?" 
Nothing  ;  and  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  hunt  him 
out,  if  among  the  living." 

"  A  long  tramp,  and  no  beaver,  or  I'm  no  sinner  !" 

"  You  think  it  impossible  for  me  to  find  him,  then  ?" 

"  Wall,  hoss,  it's  hard  sayin'  what's  unpossible  ;  but 
I'd  jest  as  soon  think  o'  huntin'  for  a  singed  tail  beaver, 
I  would,  and  odds  on  my  side  to  that." 

Here  I  entered  into  an  explanation  of  how  he  was 
lost,  and  wound  up  by  asking  : 

"  And  now  do  you  not  think  it  possible  he  was  taken 
prisoner  ?" 

"  Nothin'  agin  it,  as  I  knows  on." 

**And  if  taken  prisoner  by  the  Mexicans,  is  it  not 
possible — nay,  more,  is  it  not  probable — he  was  sold  into 
slavery  ?" 

"  Why,"  replied  Black  George,  who  seemed  struck 
with  this  last  suggestion,  I'll  gin  in  it  sort  o'  edges 
that  way,  that's  a  fact — I'll  be  dog-gone  ef  it  don't ! 
But  s'pose  it's  all  so — how's  you  to  diskiver  him  ? — 
'case  it  looks  a  heap  mixed  to  this  child,  to  see  it  in  the 
cl'arest  light." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  wish  to  know  myself,  and  for 
that  purpose  I  have  started  on  the  search — being  the 
least,  to  my  mind,  I  could  do  under  the  circumstances." 

"  Then  you're  bound  sothe,  I  s'pose  ?" 

"  Exactly  ;  and  I  want  you  to  join  me,  with  three  as 
good  men  as  you  can  select." 

"Ah,  yes  ;  but  ye  see  it's  beaver  time  now,  and—" 

"  I  understand  ;  but  lam  willing  to  pay  you  as  much 
as  you  could  make  in  your  regular  vocation." 

"  You  is,  hey  ?  Wall,  come,  now,  that's  a  sensible  and 
feelin'  speech,  and  you  couldn't  hev  bettered  the  gist  on't 
ef  you'd  a  splattered  it  over  with  all  the  big  words  you 
knows.  I  like  a  straight  for'ard-toe-the-mark  way  o'  dealin' 
— I'll  be  dogged  ef  I  don't ! — and  bein's  I  know  you're  a 
gentleman — why,  I'll  jest  tell  ye  I'm  in,  ef  it  takes  all  my 
ha'r  to  put  her  through.  Besides,  thar's  a  chance  to  raise 
ha'r,  and  that's  a  sport  as  this  coon  al'ays  had  a  nateral 


THE    OLD    TRAPPER    AGAIN.  C9 


incline  for.  I've  jest  got  in  from  the  Blues,  and  made  a 
sale  of  some  hides — so  I'm  ready  to  travel  and  fight  jest 
when  you  says  the  word.    Got  any  bacca  ?" 

Can  you  raise  me  three  more  of  the  same  sort?" 
*'I  reckon." 

"  Do  so  ;  and  we  will  start,  if  possible,  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  Wall,  that'll  jest  save  me  a  big  spree — augh  !  I  say, 
boys,"  he  continued,  drawing  from  the  pocket  of  his 
hunting-shirt  a  small  canteen,  "  got  the  critter  here — and 
so  s'pose  we  take  an  inside  wet,  eh  ?  S'pect  'twon't  hurt 
your  feelings  none  ;"  and  he  set  an  example  which  was 
very  accurately  followed. 

"By  the  by,  George,"  said  I,  "have  you  seen  or  heard 
anything  of  Prairie  Flower,  since  that  night  when  she  ap- 
peared, gave  the  alarm,  and  disappeared  so  mysteriously  ?" 

"  Jest  what  I's  a-goin'  to  ax  you.  No,  I  hain't  never 
sot  eyes  on  her  purty  face  sence  ;  but  I  hearn  a  trapper, 
as  come  from  the  sothe,  say  as  he  had  seed  her  down  to 
Taos  way,  and  all  her  Injins  was  along.  She  was  axin' 
him,  now  I  come  to  remember,  ef  he'd  hearn  o'  a  prisoner 
bein'  took  that-a- ways  and  sold  to  the  mines." 

"  Ha  !  yes  !  well  ?  what  did  he  reply  ?"  exclaimed  I, 
as  a  sudden  thought  struck  me. 

''That  he'd  hearn  o'  several — but  none  in  partikelar." 

"Heaven  bless  her  !    I  understand  it  all  !" 

"  All  what  ?"  inquired  Black  George. 

"Why,  when  I  saw  Prairie  Flower  last,  I  informed 
her  of  the  fate  of  Charles  Huntly  ;  and  ten  to  one  she  has 
set  off  to  search  for  him  !" 

"That's  it,  for  my  old  muley  !"  cried  Black  George, 
not  a  little  excited.  "I've  said  afore  she  was  a  angel, 
and  heyar's  a  possum  that  don't  speak  without  knowin'  ! 
Lord  bless  her  !  I  could  love  her  like  darnation,  jest  for 
that  !  Ef  she  ain't  one  on  'em,  why  was  peraries  made, 
hey  ?" 

A  few  minutes  more  were  spent  in  like  conversation, 
when  Black  George  parted  from  me  to  engage  some 
companions  for  our  journey. 

Bidding  Teddy  look  to  our  horses,  I  entered  the  com- 


70  THE    OLD    TRAPPER  AGAIN, 


mon  reception-room  of  the  fort,  greatly  elated  at  the  in- 
telligence just  received. 

Sweet  Prairie  Flower  !  She  was  doubtless  at  that 
very  moment  engaged  in  an  undertaking  which  should 
have  been  performed  by  me  long  before,  and  I  could  not 
but  condemn  myself  for  what  seemed  either  a  great  over- 
sight or  gross  neglect  of  duty. 

And  should  Heaven  favor  her,  and  she  discover  my 
friend  and  set  him  free,  what  a  debt  of  gratitude  would 
he  owe  her  for  saving  him  twice  ?  first  from  death,  and 
secondly  from  a  slavery  worse  than  death. 

And  should  this  happen,  what  would  be  the  result  to 
two  beings,  who,  whatever  might  be  outward  seemings, 
loved  each  other  purely  and  passionately  ! 

Sweet,  mysterious  Prairie  Flower  I  I  could  hardly 
realize  she  was  only  mortal ;  for  there  was  something  in 
ler  every  look,  thought  and  deed,  which  seemed  to  lift 
her  above  the  human  race. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  Black  George  rejoined  me, 
bringing  with  him  three  large-boned,  robust,  good-look- 
ing fellows,  who,  he  informed  me,  w^ere  ready  to  follow 
me  at  a  fair  remuneration.  In  a  few  minutes  everytiiing 
was  settled,  when  each  departed  to  make  preparations 
for  an  early  start  on  the  morrow. 

A  storm,  however,  set  in  during  the  night,  which 
raged  with  such  violence  the  next  morning  that  I  was 
compelled  to  defer  my  departure  for  twenty-four  hours 
longer. 

To  me  the  day  wore  tediously  away  ;  for  my  mind 
was  continually  harping  on  my  lost  friend  and  Prairie 
Flower  ;  and  now  that  I  had  gained  some  intelligence  of 
the  latter,  I  could  not  avoid  connecting  the  two  in  a  way 
to  raise  my  hopes  in  a  great  degree,  and  render  me 
doubly  anxious  to  be  on  the  way. 

But  if  the  delay  proved  tedious  to  me,  not  so  did  it  to 
my  companions,  who  had  a  merry  time  of  it  over  their 
cups  and  cards  ;  and  they  drank  and  played  till  it  became 
a  serious  matter  for  them  to  distinguish  an  ace  of  trumps 
from  a  gill  of  whisky.  * 

However,  the  day  went  at  last,  as  all  days  will,  and  I 


TJlJi    OLD    TRAPPER    AGAIN.  H 


was  gratified  the  second  morning  with  a  glance  at  the 
sun  as  it  rose  bright  and  glorious  in  the  east. 

I  hastened  to  rouse  my  companions,  who  were  rather 
the  worse  for  the  previous  day's  indulgence,  and  in  a 
short  time  we  were  all  mounted  and  in  motion,  a  goodly 
company  of  seven. 

Shaping  our  course  southward,  a  couple  of  hours 
brought  us  to  Port  Neuf  River,  which  we  found  very 
turbulent  from  the  late  storm,  and  in  consequence  very 
difficult  to  cross. 

After  examining  the  banks  for  some  distance,  and 
finding  no  good  ford,  we  determined  on  swimming  it. 

This  was  no  easy  undertaking  ;  for  the  current  ran 
very  swiftly,  and  loudly  roared,  as  its  flashing  but  muddy 
waters  dashed  furiously  against  tne  rocks,  which  here  and 
there  reared  their  ugly  heads,  as  if  with  a  half-formed  in- 
tention of  damming  and  forcing  it  into  another  channel. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Pierre  to  me,  as  we  stood  hesitating 
what  to  do^  "you  see  ze  odder  bank,  eh^' 

I  nodded  assent. 

"  Sacre !  now  I  tell  you  I  sail  'ave  von  grande  satis- 
factione  of  putmy  foot  dere — or  I  sail  be  von — by  gar  ! 
vot  you  call  him — dead,  wet  homme,  eh  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  he  spurred  his  horse  forward,  and  the 
next  moment  the  fiery  animal  w^as  nobly  contending 
with  an  element,  which,  in  spite  of  his  struggles,  rapidly 
bore  him  down  on  its  bosom  ;  while  his  rider,  as  if  to 
show  his  utter  contempt  for  danger,  sat  erect  on  his  back, 
coolly  engaged  in  taking  snuff. 

"  Thunder !"  exclaimed  Black  George,  with  a  grin  ; 
"ef  thar  ain't  that  old  smell-box  ag'in  !  Ef  ever  he  goes 
under,  he'll  do  it  with  a  sneeze.    Augh  !" 

"  Sure  and  it's  throublesome  he  finds  the  wather  now, 
I'm  thinking,"  observed  Teddy. 

"  Good  heavens  !  he  is  indeed  in  difficulty  !"  I  ex- 
claimed. "  Quick  !  let  us  ride_  down  the  bank  and  be 
prepared  to  give  him  aid  !" 

And  in  fact  our  aid  came  none  too  soon  ;  for  the 
stream  had  borne  both  rider  and  horse  down  to  a  narrow 
channel,  where  the  water  rushed  furiously  over  the  rocks, 
and,  being  partially  obstructed  below,  formed  an  eddy  or 


12  THE    OLD    TRAPPER  AGAIN, 


whirlpool  of  a  very  dangerous  character,  in  which  the 
beast  was  floundering  and  vainly  striving  to  reach  either 
bank. 

By  this  time  Pierre  had  become  aware  of  his  danger 
and  was  exerting  his  utmost  skill  to  keep  his  seat  and 
guide  his  animal  safely  out  of  the  fearful  vortex. 

Just  below  him  was  a  short,  narrow  reach,  of  consider- 
able  depth,  with  a  slight  fall  at  its  further  termination, 
where  the  water  seethed  and  foamed  with  great  violence  ; 
after  which  it  became  comparatively  tranquil,  as  it 
spread  out  on  a  broad  level,  to  again  concentrate  its 
•greatest  force  at  a  point  still  below. 

As  we  reached  the  bank  alongside  of  the  guide,  we 
all  dismounted ;  when  Black  George,  leaping  upon  a 
steep  rock  which  overhung  the  stream,  instantly  threw 
him  a  rope  that  he  had  selected  for  the  purpose. 

Pierre  caught  one  end  of  it  eagerly,  and,  fearing  to 
remain  longer  where  he  was,  instantly  abandoned  his 
horse  and  plunged  into  the  water. 

The  next  minute  we  had  drawn  him  ashore,  though 
not  entirely  scatheless,  as  the  whirling  current  had  sev- 
eral times  thumped  him  against  the  rocks,  and  bruised 
his  limbs  and  body  in  several  places. 

Pierre,  however,  seemed  to  care  more  for  his  horse 
than  himself  ;  and  no  sooner  had  he  found  a  safe  footing 
on  terra  firma^  than,  giving  himself  a  shake,  he  cried  : 
Mine  hoss,  by  gar  !"  and  darted  away  to  the  rescue  of 
the  unfortunate  brute,  which  was  now  being  hurried 
against  his  will  through  the  canon. 

We  all  followed  Pierre  down  the  stream  ;  but  ere  we 
gained  the  tranquil  part  of  the  river,  before  spoken  of,  the 
animal  had  passed  safely  over  the  falls,  and,  with  a  joyful 
whinny,  was  now  fast  swimming  to  the  shore,  where  he 
was  soon  caught  by  his  owner,  who  expressed  his  joy 
in  sundry  shouts  and  singular  antics. 

"  Ah  !  sacre  !"  cried  the  Frenchman,  as  he  remounted 
his  gallant  pony,  shaking  his  hand  with  an  air  of  defiance 
at  the  heedless  river  :  "  I  sail  'ave  von  le  plus  satisfactione 
again  try  your  tam  trowning  ;  "  and  no  sooner  said,  than 
he  spurred  into  the  liquid  element,  and  succeeded,  after 


TRAPPJNG    AND    A    STAMPEDE.  1\ 


some  difficulty,  in  gaining  tlic  opposite  shore;  an  ex- 
ample we  all  safely  imitated. 

We  now  struck  one  of  the  most  northern  points  of 
f  the  Bear  River  Mountains;  and  for  the  rest  of  the  day 
we  pursued  our  course  without  accident,  over  steep 
ridges,  through  dangerous  defiles,  dense  thickets,  deep 
gorges  and  ravines,  passing  yawning  chasms,  and  all  tlie 
concomitants  of  wild  mountain  scenery. 

Sometimes  we  stood  on  a  point  which  commanded 
an  extensive  view  of  a  country  of  great  beauty  and 
grandeur — where  the  soul  could  expand  and  revel  amid 
the  unchanged  fastnesses  of  a  thousand  years — and  anon 
we  were  completely  hidden  from  the  sight  of  anything 
but  the  interwoven  shrubbery,  through  which  we  dili- 
gently labored  our  way. 

At  last  we  came  to  a  fine  spring,  around  which  grew 
a  limited  circle  of  excellent  grass,  presenting  the  appear- 
ance of  a  spot,  which,  at  some  remote  period,  had  been 
cultivated. 

Here  we  encamped,  built  a  fire,  ate  our  suppers,  and 
slept  to  the  music  of  howling  wolves. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


TRAPPING  AND  A  STAMPEDE. 


IT  is  unnecessary  to  weary  the  reader  with 
further  details  of  mountain  life.  Unless  in 
cases  of  extreme  peril,  from  savages  or  wild 
beasts,  the  scenes  are  monotonous  ;  and 
enough  I  think  has  been  recorded  to  give  a 
correct  idea  of  life  as  it  \%  with  all  its  dangers  and  hard- 
ships, beyond  the  boundaries  of  civilization.  I  may  there- 
fore be  permitted  to  press  forward  and  annihilate  time 
and  space,  only  pausing  occasionally  to  give  something 


TRAPPING   AND   A  STAMPEDE. 


new,  or  something  out  of  the  regular  routine  of  every 
day  venture. 

It  was  my  intention,  on  leaving  Fort  Hall,  to  make 
the  best  of  my  way  toward  Taos,  a  small  Mexican  village, 
much  frequented  by  mountaineers,  situated  on  the 
western  side  of  an  arm  of  the  Green  Mountains,  some 
fifty  or  sixty  miles  north  of  Santa  Fe,  and  on  a  small 
tributary  of  the  Rio  Grande. 

This  was  to  be  my  first  destination,  and  where  I  was 
in  hopes  of  gaining  some  intelligence  of  my  friend,  from 
the  many  adventurers  there  collected,  the  traveling  rep- 
resentatives of  all  the  territories  as  well  as  Mexico. 

It  was  possible,  too,  I  might  fall  in  with  Prairie 
Flower  and  her  tribe,  from  whom  I  had  sanguine  expec- 
tations of  gaining  some  information,  either  good  or  bad. 
If  Prairie  Flower  had,  as  I  inferred  from  what  Black 
George  imparted,  actually  been  in  search  of  Charles 
Huntly,  I  could  at  once  gain  the  result  and  extent  of  her 
operations  and  shape  my  own  accordingly.  With  this 
view  of  the  matter,  as  may  readily  be  supposed,  I  felt  no 
little  anxiety  to  see  her,  and  on  no  route  to  my  thinking 
would  I  be  more  likely  to  find  her  than  on  the  one  I 
had  chosen  and  was  now  pursuing. 

Making  the  best  of  our  way  over  the  hills,  we  struck 
the  Bear  River  on  the  third  day  from  leaving  Fort  . 
Hall. 

This  river,  which  takes  its  rise  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  mountain  range  to  which  it  gives  a  name,  presents 
the  curious  phenomenon  of  a  stream  running  adverse 
ways,  and  nearly  parallel  to  itself,  for  a  distance  of  from 
one  to  two  hundred  miles.  Beginning,  as  just  stated,  in 
the  very  center  of  the  Bear  River  Mountains,  it  flows 
away  northward  on  its  devious  course  for  a  hundred  and 
fifty  or  two  hundred  miles,  and  then,  encircling  a  high 
ridge  with  the  bend  of  an  ox  bow,  runs  southward  nearly 
the  same  distance,  enlarging  with  numerous  tributaries, 
and  emptying  at  last  into  the  Great  Salt  Lake  within 
fifty  or  seventy-five  miles  of  its  own  head  waters. 

Formerly  this  stream  was  much  resorted  to  by  trap- 
pers, who  here  found  beaver  very  numerous  and  moun- 
tain game  in  abundance.    Beaver  dams,  in  process  of 


TRAPPJNG    AND    A    STAMPEDE.  75 


decay,  may  here  and  there  be  seen  at  the  present  day — 
and,  at  rare  intervals,  a  thriving  settlement  of  the  little 
fellows  themselves — but,  as  Black  George  remarked, 
with  a  sigh  of  regret  : 

"  It  ain't  what  it  used  to  was,  no  how." 

Soon  after  we  had  camped.  Black  George,  who  ever 
iiad  an  eye  to  business,  started  out  in  search  of  game, 
and  soon  returned  with  the  intelligence  that  "beaver 
sign  w^as  about,"  and  forthwith  proceeded  to  get  his 
traps,  which  he  had  brought  along  in  his  possibles. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  inquired. 

"  Make  'em  come,  boss — nothin'  short." 

As  I  had  never  witnessed  the  modus  operandi  of 
catching  beaver,  I  expressed  a  desire  to  do  so,  which  was 
responded  to  with  : 

"Come  on,  Bosson,  and  I'll  put  ye  through — I'll  be 
dog-gone  ef  I  don't  !" 

Taking  our  way  to  the  river,  which  was  here  rather 
shallow.  Black  George  led  me  down  some  two  hundred 
yards,  and  then  directed  my  attention  to  some  small 
tracks  made  in  the  muddy  bottom  of  the  stream  along  the 
margin  of  the  water. 

"Them's  the  sign,  d'ye  see !  and  thar's  fur  about,  sar- 
tin,  or  this  possum  don't  know  shucks." 

Saying  this,  the  old  mountaineer  proceeded  to  set  his 
traps,  of  which  he  had  some  five  or  six.  Moistening  a 
small  stick  in  his  "  medicine,"  as  he  termed  it — an  oily 
substance  obtained  from  a  gland  of  the  beaver — he  fast- 
ened it  to  the  trap,  and  then  placed  the  latter  in  the 
"run"  of  the  animal,  just  under  the  edge  of  the  water, 
securing  it  to  a  sapling  on  the  bank  by  a  small  cord. 
Another  cord  led  off  from  the  trap  several  feet,  and  was 
attached  to  a  "  floating  stick  " — so  called  from  its  floating 
on  the  water — by  which  appendage  the  trapper,  in  case 
the  beaver  gets  away  with  his  property,  is  enabled  to  re- 
cover it. 

"  And  now,"  said  I,  when  he  had  done,  "  what  induce- 
ment has  the  animal  to  become  your  victim  ?" 
"  Why  he  gits  to  be  my  meat,  you  mean  ?" 
"  Exactly." 

"Wall,  I'll  jest  explanify — though  mayhap  I'll  not  git 


76        TRAPPING   AND   A  STAMPEDE. 


it  out  as  scientiferic  as  some  folks — for,  as  I  said  some 
time  ago,  edication  never  come  in  this  child's  line.  Ye 
see,  it's  jest  this  :  beaver's  like  I've  hearn  say  women- 
folks was.  He's  got  an  orful  cur'osity,  and  it  gits  him 
into  bad  snaps  without  his  intendin'  it.  Ye  see,  he'll 
come  along  here  arter  a  while,  and  he'll  smell  that  thar 
*  medicine,'  and  think  mayhap  thar's  another  beaver 
about — leastways  he'll  want  to  know  purty  bad — and  so 
he'll  come  smellin'  round,  and,  afore  he  knows  it,  his  foot 
gits  into  the  trap  and  thar  he  is.    Augh  !" 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this,  Black  George 
quietly  continued  his  operations,  till  all  his  traps  were 
set,  and  then  together  we  returned  to  our  camp. 

On  arriving  there  I  found  that  the  beaver  mania  had 
taken  possession  of  Black  George's  companions,  who 
were  in  consequence  absent  with  like  sinister  designs 
against  the  harmless  little  fellows. 

On  returning  with  the  old  mountaineer  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  soon  discovered  he  had  "  made  a  raise,"  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  "  of  three  old  uns  and  a  kitten."  The  other 
trappers  were  somewhat  successful  also  ;  so  that  on 
that  fatal  night  no  less  than  a  dozen  beavers  lost  their 
run  "  forever. 

Before  raising  camp,  my  mountain  friends  proceeded 
to  skin  the  animals,  scrape  the  inside  of  the  pelts  of  fat 
and  all  superfluous  matter,  and  then  stretch  them  on 
hoops  for  drying — after  which  they  were  ready  for  pack- 
ing. This  latter  is  done'  by  turning  the  fur  inside,  put- 
ting several  together  and  fastening  them  wuth  cords, 
when  they  are  tightly  pressed  into  the  possibles  of  the 
trapper,  and  thus  conveyed  on  mules  to  the  rendezvous- 
market,  which  is  sometimes  in  one  place  and  sometimes 
in  another. 

The  labor  of  the  trapper  is  very  severe,  and  his  perils 
without  number.  Sometimes  he  traps  on  his  own  account 
— alone,  or  with  two  or  three  associates — and  sometimes 
for  a  company.  In  the  first  instance  he  is  known  as  the 
"  free  trapper" — in  the  second  as  the  "  hired  hand." 

In  either  case,  however,  his  hardships  are  the  same. 
He  sets  off  to  the  mountains  as  soon  as  the  spring  rains 
are  over,  and  there  generally  remains  till  the  approach- 


TRAPPING    AND    A    STAMPEDE.  77 


ing  storms  of  autumn  drive  liiiii  to  winter  quarters,  where 
his  time  is  spent  in  all  kinds  of  dissipation  to  whicli  lie 
is  accessible.  If  lie  makes  a  fortune  in  the  summer,  he 
spends  it  in  the  winter,  and  returns  to  his  vocation  in  the 
spring  as  poor  as  when  he  started  the  year  previous  ;  and 
not  unfrequently  worse  off  ;  for,  if  a  free  trapper,"  ten 
to  one  but  he  sacrifices  his  animals  in  some  drunken,  gam- 
bling spree,  and  is  forced  to  go  out  on  credit,  or  as  a 
"hired  hand."  He  braves  all  kinds  of  weather  in  his 
business,  and  all  kinds  of  danger,  from  the  common  ac- 
cidents of  the  mountains,  to  his  conflicts  with  wild  beasts 
and  wilder  and  more  ferocious  savages.  But  he  is  a 
philosopher,  and  does  not  mind  trifles.  So  he  escapes 
with  whole  bones,  or  even  with  life,  he  looks  upon  his 
hardships,  encounters  and  mishaps,  only  as  so  much 
literary  stock,  to  be  retailed  out  to  his  companions  over 
a  warm  fire,  a  euchre  deck,  and  a  canteen  of  whisky. 

Seeking  the  best  beaver  regions,  he  scans  carefully  all 
the  rivers,  creeks  and  rivulets  in  the  vicinity  for  "  beaver 
sign,"  regardless  of  danger.  If  he  finds  a  tree  across  a 
stream,  he  gives  it  close  attention,  to  ascertain  whether 
it  is  there  by  accident,  by  human  design,  or  whether  it  is 
"  thrown"  by  the  animal  of  his  search  for  the  purpose  of 
damming  the  water.  If  the  first  or  second,  he  passes  oj  ; 
if  the  last,  he  begins  his  search  for  the  "  run  of  the  cr 
ter."  He  carefully  scrutinizes  all  the  banks,  and  peer 
under  them  for  "  beaver  tracks."  If  he  finds  any,  his  next 
examination  is  to  ascertain  whether  they  are  "  old"  or 
"  fresh."  If  the  latter,  then  his  traps  are  set  forthwith,  in 
the  manner  already  shown. 

In  his  daily  routine  of  business  he  not  unfrequently 
encounters  terrible  storms  of  rain  or  snow — the  former 
sufficient  to  deluge  hijn  and  raise  rivulets  to  rivers — and 
the  latter  to  bury  him,  without  almost  superhuman 
exertions,  far  from  mortal  eye,  and  there  hold  him  to 
perish, 

"  Unwept,  unhonored  and  unsung." 

These  are  the  least  of  his  dangers.  He  is  often 
attacked  by  wild  beasts,  when  nothing  but  his  presence 
of  mind,  his  coolness  and  good  marksmanship,  can  extri- 


78        TRAPPING   AND   A  STAMPEDE.- 


cate  him  from  his  difficulty  ;  and  yet  he  rarely  fails  to 
come  off  conqueror.  Escaping  these,  he  must  be  contin- 
ually on  his  guard  against  his  worst  foe,  the  wily  Indian  ; 
so  that  he  can  never  approach  a  bush  with  the  surety  that 
a  treacherous  ball  may  not  put  a  close  to  his  mortal 
career,  and  all  his  hard  earnings  pass  into  the  hands  of 
an  enemy  he  ever  hates  with  the  bitterness  of  concen- 
trated passion.  With  all  these  dangers,  hardships  and 
vicissitudes,  your  genuine  trapper  loves  his  calling, 
would  not  be  content  to  follow  any  other,  and  is  in  gen- 
eral a  rough,  jolly,  dare-devil  sort  of  a  fellow,  who  not 
unfrequently  attains  to  the  appointed  age  of  man,  and  at 
last  "goes  under,"  with  all  the  stoicism  of  a  martyr, 

"  With  not  a  stone,  and  not  a  line, 
To  tell  he  e'er  had  been." 

Continuing  our  course,  but  in  a  more  easterly  direc- 
tion, we  at  length  quitted  the  mountains  and  descended 
to  a  large,  beautiful,  rolling  prairie,  with  little  or  no 
vegetation  but  short,  buffalo  grass. 

Taking  our  way  over  this,  we  had  been  about  half  a 
day  out,  and  were  beginning  to  lose  sight  of  the  lower 
ranges  of  hills,  when  we  heard  a  deep  rumbling,  like 
heavy  thunder,  or  a  distant  earthquake,  and  our  guide 
came  to  a  sudden  halt,  exclaiming  : 

"  Le  diable !" 
Howly  jabers  !  what  is  it,  now  ?"  cried  Teddy. 

"  Hist !"  exclaimed  Black  George.  "  I'll  be  dog-gone 
ef  I  don'  think  we're  chawrd  up  this  time,  sure  as 
sin  !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  I  echoed. 

"  Von  grande  stampede,  by  gar  !"  answered  Pierre. 
"  Stampede  of  what,  I  pray  ?" 
"  Buffler,"  replied  Black  George. 
"  Where  are  they  ?" 

"Yonder  they  is  now — here  a-ways  they  soon  will 
be  ;"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  pointed  over  the  plain  with  his 
finger. 

Following  the  direction  with  my  eyes,  I  beheld  in 
the  distance  a  cloud  of  dust,  which  rolled  upward  like  a 


T'RAPPING   AND   A    STAMPEDE.  79 


morning  fog,  tlirough  whicfi,  and  in  which,  I  could  occa- 
sionally catch  a  glimpse  of  the  huge  animals,  as  they 
bounded  forward  with  railroad  velocity. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  I  cried. 

"Grin  and  bear  it !"  responded  the  old  trapper, 

"  But  we  shall  be  trodden  to  death!  See!  they  are 
coming  this  way  !" 

"  Can't  die  younger  !"  was  the  cool  rejoinder. 

"  But  can  we  not  fly  ?" 

"  Howly  Moses  !"  shouted  Teddy,  worked  up  to  a 
keen  pitch  of  excitement  ;  "  it's  fly  we  must,  sure,  as  if  the ' 
divil  was  afther  us,  barring  that  our  flying  must  be  did 
on  baasts,  as  have  no  wings,  now,  but  long  legs,  jist." 

"  What  for  you  run,  eh  ?"  grinned  the  Frenchman. 
**  Him  catche  you,  by  gar  !  just  so  easy  as  you  catche 
him,  von  leetle,  zemp — vot  you  call  him — mosquito, 
eh  ?" 

"It's  no  use  o'  showin'  them  critters  our  backs,"  re- 
joined Black  George.  "  Heyar's  what  don't  turn  back 
on  nothin'  that's  got  ha'r." 

"  Well,"  continued  I,  "  you  may  do  as  you  please ; 
but  as  for  myself  I  have  no  desire  to  stand  in  my  tracks 
and  die  without  an  effort." 

Saying  this,  I  wheeled  my  horse,  and  was  just  in  the 
act  of  putting  spurs  to  him,  when  Black  George  suddenly 
dashed  up  alongside  and  caught  my  bridle. 

"  See  heyar,  boy — don't  go  to  runnin' — or  you'll 
discomflumicate  yourself  oudaciously — you  will,  by 
thunder  !  Eh,  Pierre  ?" 

"  Certainment,  by  gar  !"  answered  the  guide  ;  and 
then  both  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  I,  in  astonishment,  un- 
able to  comprehend  their  singular  actions  ;  and  I  turned 
to  the  other  mountaineers,  who  were  sitting  quietly  on 
their  horses,  and  inquired  if  they  did  not  think  there  was 
danger. 

"  Thar's  al'ays  danger,"  replied  one,  "  in  times  like 
this  here  ;  but  thar's  no  safety  in  runnin'  !" 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  !  what  are  we  to  do,  then  ?  Stay 
here  quietly  and  get  run  over  ?" 

Black  George  gave  a  quiet  laugh,  and  the  Frenchman 


TRAPPING    AND    A  STAMPEDE. 


proceeded  to  take  snuff.  This  was  too  much  for  my 
patience.  I  felt  myself  insulted  ;  and  jerking  away  my 
rein,  from  the  hand  of  the  trapper,  I  exclaimed,  indig- 
nantly : 

"  I  do  not  stay  here  to  be  the  butt  of  any  party. 
Teddy,  follow  me  !" 

The  next  moment  I  was  dashing  over  the  prairie  at 
the  full  speed  of  my  horse,  with  the  Irishman,  to  use  a 
nautical  phrase,  close  in  my  wake,  whooping  and 
shouting. 

The  direction  we  had  taken  was  the  same  as  that  pur- 
sued by  the  running  buffaloes  ;  and  we  could  only  hope 
for  ultimate  safety  by  reaching  some  huge  tree,  rock,  or 
other  obstacle  to  their  progress,  in  advance  of  them. 

How  far  we  would  have  to  run  to  accomplish  this, 
there  was  no  telling  ;  for,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach 
ahead  of  us,  we  saw  nothing  but  the  same  monotonous, 
rolling  plain. 

The  beasts,  thundering  on  in  our  rear,  were  so  nume- 
rous, and  their  line  so  broad,  that  an  attempt  to  ride  out 
of  their  way,  by  turning  to  the  right  or  left,  could  not 
be  thought  of,  as  the  velocity  of  the  animals  would  be 
certain  to  bring  a  wing  upon  us  ere  we  could  clear  their 
lines. 

There  was  nothing  for  it,  then,  but  a  dead  race  ;  and, 
I  will  be  free  to  own,  the  thought  of  this  fairly  chilled 
my  blood.  Exposed  as  I  had  been  to  all  kinds  of  danger, 
I  had  never  felt  more  alarmed  and  depressed  in  spirits 
than  now. 

What  could  my  companions  mean  by  their  indiffer- 
ence and  levity?  Was  it  possible  that,  having  given 
themselves  up  for  lost,  the  excitement  had  stupefied 
some  and  turned  the  brains  of  others  ?  Horrible  thought! 
I  shuddered,  and  turned  on  my  horse  to  look  back. 

There  they  stood,  dismounted,  rifles  in  hand,  and,  just 
beyond  them,  the  mighty  host  still  booming  forward. 
Poor  fellows  !  all  hope  with  them  is  over,  I  thought ; 
and,  with  a  sigh  at  their  fate,  I  withdrew  my  gaze  and 
urged  on  my  steed. 

On,  on  we  sped,  for  a  mile  or  more,  when  I  ventured 
another  look  behind  me. 


TRAPPING   AND    A    STAMPEDE,  81 


Judge  of  my  surprise,  on  beholding  a  long  line  of 
buffaloes  to  the  right  and  left,  rusiiing  away  in  different 
directions;  while  directly  before  me  ncjthing  was  visible 
but  my  friends,  who,  on  perceiving  me  look  back,  made 
signs  for  me  to  halt  and  wait  for  them. 

I  did  so,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  came  up  laughing. 

"  Why,  liosson,"  said  Black  George,  waggishly,  "  I 
hope  as  how  you've  run  the  skeer  out  o'  ye  by  this, 
time,  for  I'll  be  dog-gone  ef  you  can't  travel  a  few  !" 

"Qui,  Monsieur,"  added  Pierre,  "vous  'ave  von  le 
plus  grande — vot  you  call  him — locomotion,  eh  ?" 

"But  how,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  wonderful,  did 
you  escape?"  rejoined  I. 

Jest  as  nateral  as  barkin'  to  a  pup,"  answered  Black 
George.  "  We  didn't  none  on  us  hev  no  fear  at  no  time  ; 
and  was  only  jest  playin'  possum,  to  see  ef  we  could  make 
your  ha'r  stand — never  'specting',  though,  you  was  a-goin* 
to  put  out  and  leave  us." 

"  But  pray  tell  me  how  you  extricated  yourselves  ?" 
said  I,  feeling  rather  crestfallen  at  my  recent  unheroic 
display. 

"  VVhy,  jest  as  easy  as  shootin' — and  jest  that,  hoss,  and 
nothin'  else." 

*'  Explain  yourself !" 

"  Wall,  then,  we  kind  o'  waited  till  them  critters  got 
up,  so  as  we  could  see  their  peepers  shine,  and  then  we 
all  burnt  powder  and  tumbled  over  two  or  three  leaders. 
This  skeered  them  as  was  behind,  and  they  jest  sniffed,  and 
snorted,  and  sot  off  ayther  ways  like  darnation.  It  warn't 
nothing  wonderful,  that  warn't,  and  it  'ud  been  onnateral 
for  'em  to  done  anything  else." 

"I  say,  your  honor,"  rejoined  Teddy,  with  a  signifi- 
cant wink,  "  it's  like,  now,  we've  made  jackasses  o'  our- 
silves,  barring  your  honor." 

"  Very  like,"  returned  I,  biting  my  lips  with  vexation, 
"all  but  the  barring." 

The  truth  is,  I  felt  much  as  one  caught  in  a  mean  act, 
and  I  would  have  given  no  small  sum  to  have  had  the 
joke  on  some  one  else. 

I  detected  many  a  quiet  smile  curling  the  lips  of  my 
companions,  when  they  thought  I  did  not  notice  them  ; 
5 


82    CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK. 


and  I  knew  by  this  they  were  laughing  in  their  sleeves,  as 
the  saying  is  ;  but,  being  in  my  service,  did  not  care  to 
irritate  my  feelings  by  a  more  open  display. 

It  is  very  galling  to  a  sensitive  person  to  Know  he  has 
made  himself  ridiculous,  and  is  a  private  subject  of  jest 
with  his  inferiors.  It  is  no  use  for  one  under  such  cir« 
cumstances  to  fret,  and  foam,  and  show  temper.  No  ! 
such  things  only  make  the  matter  worse.  The  best  way 
is  to  come  out  boldly,  own  to  the  joke,  and  join  in  the 
laugh.    Acting  upon  this,  I  said  : 

*'  Friends,  I  have  made  a  fool  of  myself — I  am  aware 
of  it — and  you  are  at  liberty  to  enjoy  the  joke  to  its  full 
extent.  But  remember,  you  must  not  spread  it  !  and 
when  we  reach  a  station,  consider  me  your  debtor  for  a 
*  heavy  wet '  all  around." 

This  proved  a  decided  hit.  All  laughed  freely  at  the 
time  ;  and  that  was  the  last  I  heard  of  it  till  I  fulfilled 
my  liquor  pledge  at  Uintah  Fort ;  when  Black  George 
ventured  the  toast,  "  Buffler  and  a  run,"  which  was  fol- 
lowed with  roars  of  mirth  at  my  expense  ;  and  there  the 
matter  ended. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CAMP  STORIES  AND  THE  ATTACK. 

ASSING  Uintah  Fort,  which  awakened  many 
painful  recollections  of  what  had  occurred 
since  my  former  visit  here  in  company  with 
my  lost  friend,  we  took  a  southerly  course, 
and,  crossing  Green  River,  continued  over  an 
undulating,  mountainous  country,  to  Grand  River,  and 
thence  to  the  most  northern  range  of  the  Green  Moun- 
tains, where  gush  forth  the  head  waters  of  the  Arkansas 
and  Rio  Grande. 

Here  we  came  to  a  beautiful  valley,  shut  in  by  high 
hills,  through  which  flowed  a  limpid  stream,  whose  banks 


CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK.  83 


wore  a  velvet  covering  of  rich,  green  grass  and  innumer- 
able wild  t^ovvers.  A  liltJe  back  from  tiie  stream,  on 
either  side,  was  a  delightful  grove,  stretching  away  in 
rows  of  artificial  regularity. 

In  fact,  from  what  I  saw,  and  the  information  I 
gathered  from  my  companions,  I  have  every  reason 
to  believe  this  valley  was  at  one  time  a  nobleman's 
park. 

I  said  it  was  shut  in  by  hills;  but  there  was  one  out- 
let toward  the  west,  where  the  streamlet  flowed  gently 
away  between  two  ridges. 

Entering  through  this  pass,  you  are  struck  with  the 
singular  beauty  of  the  spot  ;  and  not  more  so  than  by  a 
huge  pile  of  ruins  on  a  gentle  eminence  away  to  the  right. 

Here,  as  tradition  goes,  once  stood  a  famous  castle, 
belonging  to  a  Spanish  nobleman,  who,  for  some  state 
intrigue,  was  exiled  his  country,  but  who  subsequently 
flourished  here  in  great  power. 

He  had  a  beautiful  daughter,  to  whom  a  descendant 
of  the  Aztecs  paid  court ;  but  neither  the  father  nor  the 
daughter  fancied  the  suitor,  and  his  suit  was  rejected. 

Enraged  at  this,  the  suitor  swore  revenge  ;  and  pos- 
sessing power  and  influence  over  a  barbarous  race,  he 
succeeded,  by  bribes  and  treachery,  in  accomplishing  his 
fell  design. 

The  lord  of  the  castle,  his  daughter  and  attendants,  all 
fell  victims  ;  and  the  mighty  structure,,  touched  by  the 
devastating  fingers  of  Time,  at  last  became  a  heap  of 
ruins. 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  tradition,  w^hich  I  give 
for  the  benefit  of  future  romancers. 

As  we  entered  this  ancient  retreat,  the  bright  sun  of 
a  hot  July  day  was  just  beginning  to  dip  below  the  line 
of  the  western  horizon  ;  and  his  yellow  light,  streaming 
along  the  surface  of  the  meandering  waters,  gave  them 
the  appearance  of  a  long  stream  of  molten,  quivering 
gold. 

Everything  in  and  about  the  place  seemed  to  possess 
the  charm  of  enchantment.  Beautiful  and  merry  song- 
sters, of  all  hues,  warbled  sweet  tunes  among  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  or  amid  the  tall  grass  and  flowers 


84    CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK, 


beneath  them.  Here  and  there  small  animals  of  the 
hare  species  might  be  seen  running  to  and  fro,  while  the 
waters  of  the  rivulet  occasionally  displayed  the  shiny 
sides  of  a  mountain  trout. 

Take  it  all  in  all,  to  me  the  place  seemed  a  second 
Eden  ;  and  when  I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  old  ruins, 
my  imagination  at  once  carried  me  far  back  into  the 
dark  ages  of  the  past,  and  the  strange  tales  I  had  heard 
seemed  literally  enacting  before  me. 

*'Thar's  been  a  heap  o'  blood  spilt  here-a-ways,  take 
one  lime  with  another,"  observed  Black  George,  as,  with 
our  pipes  in  our  mouths,  we  sat  around  the  camp-fire  in 
the  evening. 

"  Faith,  and  it's  mesilf,  now,"  said  Teddy,  "thatud 
be  afther  saeing  the  spot  as  hasn't  been  likewise,  in  this 
haythen  part  of  Christendom  " 

"  Oui,  Monsieur  Teddy,"  rejoined  the  Frenchman. 
"  Ha  !  ha !  by  gar  sacre  !  dat  pe  ver  nice  spoke — ver 
nice.  You  sail  make  von  moche  grande — vot  you  call 
him — oratore,  eh  ?'* 

"  But  tell  us  what  you  know,"  said  I,  addressing  the 
old  trapper,  whom  I  was  anxious  to  draw  out  in  one  of 
his  marvelous  tales. 

"  Well,  hoss,  I'll  gin  ye  the  gist  of  a  spree  I  once  had 
here,  ef  Teddy'U  agree  to  tell  a  story  when  I'm  done." 

"  What  say  you,  Teddy?" 

"  Och,  now,  it's  not  me  mother's  child  as  was  iver  blist 
wid  the  gift  o'  gab  ;  but  to  make  the  time  slip  off  asy,  I'll 
do  me  trying  of  it,  rather  thin  lose  that  of  Misther  Black 
George,  barring  that  I'd  lose  what  I  niver  had,  and  that 
ud  be  lost  twice,  d'ye  mind  !" 
As  how,  Teddy?" 

"Why,  your  honor,  and  sure  wouldn't  I  lose  the 
hearing  the  story  towld,  and  the  story  itsilf  besides  ? 
and  troth,  wouldn't  that  be  two  ?  and  isn't  two  twice, 
now  ?" 

"  Very  good  for  you  ;  but  come,  George,  go  on  with 
the  tale  !" 

Here  the  old  mountaineer  took  out  his  pipe,  knocked 
out  the  ashes,  put  some  of  the  weed  into  his  mouth,  and, 


CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK,  ^5 


after  twisting  and  turning  himself  into  a  comfortable 
position,  thus  began  : 

"  Thar's  none  o'  ye  here,  I  s'pect,  as  knowed  Ben 
Bose  ;  and  the  more's  the  pity  ;  for  Ben  was  a  screamer, 
he  was,  right  out  and  out.  He  could  eat  more  buffler 
meat,  drink  more  whisky,  chawr  more  'bacca,  cuss 
louder,  and  tell  bigger  lies,  nor  any  white  nigger  this 
coon  ever  seed — and  that's  a  dog-gone  fact !  Mayhap 
you  think  as  how  I  exaggertate ;  but  I  ken  jest  prove  all 
I've  said,  and  more  too.  Why,  I've  seed  Ben,  afore  now, 
when  his  meat  bag  war  right  smart  empty,  chawr  up  half 
a  buffler,  all  wet  down  with  about  two  gallon  o'  whisky, 
and  then  sw'ar,  till  all  the  trees  round  him  ud  git  the 
ager,  that  ef  he  didn't  git  so'thin'  to  eat  soon  he'd  hev  to 
go  a  wolfin'  with  starvation.  And  as  for  lyin' — oh,  he 
could  tell  sich  lies,  could  Ben,  and  sw'ar  to  'em  so  par- 
fict,  that  though  you  knowed  all  the  time  they  was  li^s, 
you'd  sort  o'  b'lieve  'em,  and  wouldn't  care  to  do  nothin* 
else  ;  for  you'd  kind  o'  say  to  yourself,  ef  they  ain't  facts 
they  ort  to  be,  and  that's  the  same  thing.  Why  Ben 
used  to  tell  sich  almighty  lies,  and  stick  to  'em  so  long, 
that  he'd  git  to  believin*  'em  himself,  he  would — and 
then  he'd  quit  'em  ;  for  he  war  never  knowed  to  tell 
anything  as  he  suspicioned  bein'  true  ef  he  could  help  it. 
The  only  time  this  child  ever  hearn  him  tell  a  fact,  was 
onc't  in  a  joke,  when  he  said  he  was  the  biggest  liar  on 
*arth  ;  but  he  made  up  for  that  right  sudden,  by  swearin' 
the  next  minnet  he'd  never  told  a  lie  in  his  life. 

"  But  whar  am  I  gittin'  to  ?  Wall,  ye  see  by  this 
that  Ben  was  one  of  the  boys,  he  was,  and  nothin'  else. 
Poor  feller  !  he  went  under  at  last  like  a  sojer.  He  gin 
in  the  pint  right  out  thar-a-ways,  whar  ye  see  the  light 
shinin'  on  that  big  tree." 

"  Ah  !  then  he  died  here  ?" 

"  Wall,  he  did,"  said  the  old  trapper,  with  a  sigh  ; 
"  but  he  died  game,  and  that's  so'thin'.  It's  how  he  went 
out  I'm  goin'  to  'lighten  ye  ;  but  I'm  goin'  to  make  the 
story  short ;  for  somehow  these  here  old  by-gones  makes 
me  feel  watery  like,  and  I  never  had  much  incline  for 
water,  no  how.    Augh  ! 

"Ben  was  purty  much  of  a  gentleman,  any  how  ;  and 


86    CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK. 


me  and  him,  when  we'd  meet,  used  to  come  together  like 
two  pieces  of  wax,  and  stick  to  each  other  like  darnation, 
ef  not  more.  The  last  time  I  ever  seed  Ben,  I  got  on  his 
*  run' just  back  here  a  few  mile.  He  was  jest  makin'  his 
tracks  out  from  Taos,  and  this  coon  war  jest  crossin'  over 
from  Bent's  Fort.  Me  and  him  had  two  muleys  apiece, 
and  was  both  goin'  out  alone,  and  happ'd  to  meet  jest 
whar  two  trails  jine. 

*  How  is  ye  ?'  sez  he,  *  and  whar  bound  ?* 

"  *  Why,  I'm  some,*  I  sez  back  ag'in,  *and  out  for  a 
ventur'.' 

"  *Jest  from  Bent's?' 
"  *Nowhar  else,  hoss.' 

"  *  I'm  from  Taos.  Let's  splice  and  double  the  game. 
Augh  !' 

"  So  we  jined  in,  and  went  talkin'  'bout  this  thing  and 
that,  and  trying  which  could  outlie  t'other,  till  we  got  to 
this  here  valley  and  camped." 

"  *  What  d'ye  think  o'  this  place,  anyhow?'  sez  he. 

"  *  I  reckon  it's  a  few,'  sez  I. 

"  *  D'ye  ever  see  any  ghosts  here  ?'  sez  he. 

*  Nary  a  ghost,  hoss  !'  sez  I. 

"  *  I  hev,'  sez  he.  '  I  was  campin'  here  one  night, 
and  had  jest  got  ready  to  blind  my  daylights,  when  I 
happ'd  to  cast  one  over  thar  to  that  old  castle,  and  may  I 
be  sot  down  for  a  liar  ef  I  didn't  see  a  live  ghost  standin' 
right  on  that  big  pile,  all  dressed  in  white,  and  lookin' 
orful  serious  right  at  me.  At  fust  I  tried  to  think  it  a 
opterkal  collusion,'  sez  he  ;  *but  then  I  knowed  right  off 
that  ef  I  didn't  see  that  I  didn't  see  nothin'  ;  and  if  I 
didn't  see  nothin',  what  in  blazes  did  I  see  ?  Wall,  arter 
squintin'  at  it,'  sez  he,  *  till  my  eye-kivers  got  so  heavy  I 
had  to  put  splinters  under  'em  to  prop  'em  up,  I  riz  up 
on  to  my  travelin'  pins,  and  sot  out  on  a  explore,  to  see 
ef  'twas  the  ghost  of  a  white  man  or  Injin.  On  that,'  sez 
he,  '  the  giiost  got  miffed,  and,  makin'  jest  one  step,  stood 
light  plum  beside  me. 

"  *  Ben  Bose,'  sez  the  ghost,  *  I  want  you.' 

"  *  And  so  does  Old  Nick,'  sez  Ben. 

*  Well,  I'm  him,'  sez  the  ghost ;  and  at  that  Ben  sez 


CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK.  87 


the  thing  jest  turned  black  in  the  face,  and  looked  orfiil 
skcerful. 

'"Hadn't  you  better  wait  till  I  git  ready?'  axed  Ben. 

"'No,'  sez  the  old  ciiap,  'I  want  you  now;'  and  at 
that  Ben  sez  he  took  hold  on  him,  and  his  fingers  felt  hot 
as  burnt  pitch. 

"  *  Wall,'  sez  Ben,  *  I  jest  clinched  into  him,  and  sich 
a  tussle  you  never  seed.  Fust  me  and  then  Brimstone, 
and  then  Brimstone  and  me,  for  two  mortal  hours.  But, 
by  hokey,  I  licked  !'  sez  Ben;  'and  the  feller  mosied  with 
a  flea  in  his  ear,  and  his  tail  hangin'  down  like  a  licked 
puppy's.' 

"  Now,  boys,"  continued  Black  George,  "as  I've  said 
afore,  Ben  was  the  all-firedest  liar  on  'arth,  or  else  I 
mought  a  b'lieved  so'thin'  o'  this  ;  for  he  hadn't  but  jest 
done  spinnin'  it,  when  bang,  bang,  bang — whizz,  whizz, 
whizz — yehup!  yeaho!  w^hirp!  come  ringin'  in  our  ears, 
as  ef  the  'arth  was  all  alive  with  shootin'  Injins — and 
that's  a  scripter,  dog-gone  fact,  as  I'm  a  gentleman  ! 
(Somebody  gin  me  a  chawr  ! — augh!) 

"'  Oh,  the  infarnals  !'  sez  Ben,  jumpin'  up  and  showin* 
blood  on  his  noddle.  '  I'm  dead  meat,  sartin.  But  I'll 
hev  company  along,'  sez  he ;  and  he  ups  and  blazes 
away,  and  throwed  the  nigh  one,  as  was  comin'  up, 
right  purty. 

*'*  Two  on  'em,'  sez  I,  *for  a  pint;'  and  old  Sweetlove 
gin  the  second  one  the  double-up,  instanter. 

*  Now,  let's  dodge,'  sez  Ben,  'and  keep  our  ha'r;'  and 
with  that  he  grabbed  hold  o'  me,  and  both  on  us  put  out 
for  the  hills. 

But  Ben  ud  got  a  settler,  and  felt  top-heavy.  He 
traveled  'bout  fifty  yard,  with  my  arm  in  hisn,  and  five 
yellin'  devils  close  behind  us  ;  and  then  he  pitched  on  to 
me,  and  said  he'd  got  to  quit,  and  axed  me  to  lift  his 
ha'r*  and  keep  it  from  the  cussed  Injins.  I  hated  to  do 
it  like  darnation — but  thar  wasn't  no  help.  Ef  I  didn't, 
the  skunks  would  ;  and  so  I  outs  with  my  butcher,  and 
off  come  his  sculp  afore  you  could  say  beans. 

" '  Thankee,'  sez  Ben.  '  Good-bye,  old  hoss,  and  put 
out,  or  you'll  lose  two  on  'em.' 

^  *  Take  his  scalp. 


88     CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK. 


"  I  knowed  he  war  right  ;  and  though  I  hated  to  quit, 
I  seed  thar  was  no  help,  and  I  started  for  the  old  castle 
yonder,  fodderin'  Sweetlove  as  I  went.  I  hadn't  got  fur, 
when  I  knowed  by  the  yell  the  rascals  had  come  up  to 
him.  They  'spected  to  make  a  raise  thar,  and  two  stopped 
for  his  fur,  and  the  rest  followed  me.  Ben  was  cunnin' 
though,  and  they  didn't  never  tell  what  happ'd — them 
fellers  didn't — I'll  be  dog-gone  ef  they  did  !  Ben  kind  o' 
played  possum,  and  they  thought  he  was  gone  under  ;  and 
so,  while  they  was  foolin'  thar  time,  Ben  had  his  eye 
skinned,  burnt  his  pups'*  powder,  and  throwed  both  on 
'em  cold  right  han'some,  and  then  turned  over  and 
kicked  the  bucket  hisself.  I  managed  to  plug  another 
jest  about  then,  and  the  other  two  scamps  sot  off  in- 
stanter  for  a  more  sal-u-bri-ous  clime — they  did —  and  ef 
you'd  only  seed  'em  streak  it,  you'd  a  thought  lightnin* 
warn't  no  whar. 

"  Why,  jest  to  tell  the  clean  truth,  I'll  be  dog-gone  ef 
they  didn't  travel  so  fast  that  a  streak  o'  lire  followed 
'em,  and  the  animals  as  had  been  snoozin'  on  thar  way, 
waked  up  and  looked  out,  and  concluded  the  'arth  was 
burnin'  most  conscimptiously,  and  so  put  out  arter  them 
same  fiyin'  humans.  Fact,  by  Judas!  and  ef  you  don't 
b'lieve  it,  you  ken  jest  bile  me  for  a  persimmon  and  no 
questions  axed." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  I,  as  Black  George  paused  and 
looked  around  triumphantly,  "we  all  believe  it,  and  I 
should  like  to  see  the  man  that  would  not." 

*'  Faith,  now,"  chimed  in  Teddy,  tipping  me  the 
wink,  "the  man  that  wouldn't  belave  all  that  asy, 
wouldn't  belave  that  the  moon's  made  o'  green  cheese, 
nor  that  Metooselah  (blissings  on  his  name  of  scripter 
mimory  !)  was  twice  as  big  as  a  maating-house." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ver  fine  !"  chimed  in  the  Frenchman,  rub- 
bing his  hands  and  giving  a  peculiar  shrug.  "  I  am  ver 
moche  delight.  I  sail  pelievehim  till  I  pe  von — vot  you 
call  him — gray  beard,  eh  !" 

The  other  mountaineers  laughed,  winked  at  one  an- 
other, but  made  no  reply  ;  and  Black  George  resumed, 
with  all  the  gravity  of  a  parson  : 

*  Pistols. 


CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK.  S9 


"Wall,  scnce  yon  b'licve  it,  I  don't  sec  no  use  as  I'll 
Iicv  to  i)rovc  it,  and  that's  so'thin'  gained.  Wall,  when 
I  seed  the  field  was  cl'ar,  I  jest  mosied  back  to  Ben,  to 
see  how  he'd  come  out,  for  then  I  didn't  know.  I  shuf- 
lled  up  to  him,  and  thar  I  seed  the  varmints  lyin'  by  his 
side,  clean  meat  and  nothin'  else,  and  Ben  Bose  as  dead 
nor  a  biled  kitten.  I  felt  kind  o'  orful  for  a  while,  and 
had  to  play  the  squaw  aleetle,  jest  for  old  acquaintance's 
sake. 

'*  When  I'd  rubbed  the  water  out  o'  my  spy-glasses,  I 
sot  to  work,  dug  a  hole,  and  kivered  Ben  over  decent,  at 
least  a  foot  below  wolf-smell.  Then  I  went  a  ha'r  raisin', 
and  lifted  all  the  skunks'  top-knots,  took  ail  thar  muskets 
and  powder,  and  sot  down  to  my  lone  camp-fire,  feelin'  as 
used  up  and  womanish  as  ef  I'd  shuk  with  the  ager  a 
month.  The  only  feel-good  I  had  that  night,  was  hearin' 
the  infarnal  wolves  tearin'  the  meat  off  o'  them  dirty 
scamps'  bones. 

"The  next  mornin'  I  sot  on  ag'in,  and  took  on  Ben's 
muleys,  and  it  was  a  purty  considerable  time  afore  I  made 
another  trail  in  this  here  valley.  Thar,  you've  got  the 
meat  o'  the  story,  and  I'm  done — augh  !" 

Though  more  familiar  with  mountain  life  and  all  its 
rough  scenes  than  when  I  first  heard  the  old  trapper  re- 
late his  adventures,  yet  the  tale  he  had  just  told,  in  his 
rude,  off-hand  way,  produced  many  painful  feelings. 

The  story,  in  the  main,  I  believed  to  be  true — at  least 
that  part  which  related  to  the  death  of  the  trapper — and 
I  could  not  avoid  some  very  unpleasant  reflections. 

Who  was  Ben  Bose  ?  and  how  came  he  here  ?  Had 
he  any  near  and  dear  relatives  ?  Ay,  perchance  he  had 
a  mother — a  sister — who  knows  but  a  wife  and  children  ? 
. — all  of  whom  loved  him  with  a  pure  affection.  He  had 
been  driven,  it  might  be,  by  the  stern  arm  of  necessity,  to 
gain  a  living  for  himself  and  them  among  the  wild  fast- 
nesses of  the  mountains.  He  had  toiled  and  struggled, 
perhaps  braved  dangers  and  hardships,  with  the  bright 
hope  of  one  day  returning  to  them,  to  part  no  more  in 
life. 

And  they,  all  ignorant  of  his  untimely  fate,  had  pos- 
sibly been — nay,  might  be  now — anxiously  looking  for 


90    CAMF  STORIES  AND    THE  ATTACK. 


his  return.  Alas,  if  so,  they  must  forever  look  in  vain  ! 
No  news  of  him,  perhaps,  would  ever  reach  their  ears — 
and  certainly  no  Ben  Bose  would  ever  again  appear. 
Should  they  venture,  however,  to  make  inquiry  among 
the  trappers  who  had  known  him,  what  painful  tidings 
would  the  common  brief  rejoinders,  "  he's  gone  under," 
or  "  been  rubbed  out,"  convey  to  them,  and  how  lacerate 
their  sinking  hearts  !  Poor  fellow  !  Here  he  slept  his 
last  sleep,  unheeding  and  unheeded,  his  memory  forgot- 
ten, or  recalled  only  on  an  occasion  like  this  as  a  fire-side 
pastime. 

Alas,"  sighed  I,  "  what  an  unenviable  fate  !  and  how 
many  hundred  poor  human  beings  like  him  are  doomed 
to  share  it !" 

I  was  recalled  from  my  ruminations  by  hearing  clam- 
ors for  a  story  from  Teddy,  who,  now  that  Black  George 
had  told  his,  seemed  but  little  inclined  to  favor  us. 

"Remember  your  promise,"  said  I,  joining  in  with  the 
others. 

Faith,"  answered  Teddy,  resorting  to  his  peculiar 
habit,  when  puzzled  or  perplexed,  of  scratching  his 
head  ;  "  faith,  now,  gintlcmen,  if  ye'U  allow  a  poor  body 
like  mesilf  to  obsarve,  it's  me  mother's  own  son  as  is 
thinking  it's  a  mighty  tight  fix  I'm  in.  Troth,  ye  axes 
me  for  a  story,  and  it's  hardly  one  that  mesilf  knows  to 
tell  yees  !  Och  !  I  have  it  now  !"  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes 
brightening  with  a  sudden  thought ;  "  I  have  it  now, 
claan  at  me  fingers'  inds  !  I'll  tell  yees  how  I  comed  to 
lave  ould  Ireland — the  swaat  land  o'  murphies  and  mur- 
thering  fine  ladies — bliss  their  angel  sowls,  ivery  baastly 
one  on  'em  !  barring  the  baastly  part,  now,  which  I  only 
mintioned  by  way  of  smoothing  the  sintence." 

"  Yes,  yes,  give  us  the  yarn,"  cried  a  voice  ;  "  and 
don't  spin  it  too  long,  for  it's  gittin*  late." 

*'Ay,  Teddy,"  I  added,  "I  think  that  will  do— only 
make  it  short." 

"  By  gar,"  rejoined  Pierre,  having  recourse  to  his  box, 
"  I  think  so,  Monsieur.  Cut  him  off  so — von,  two,  tree 
feets — and  zen  him  be  von  ver  exsallent  good,  eh?  Je  le 
crois." 

"  Will,  ye  sac,  thin,  ginllemen,"  resumed  Teddy,  "to 


CAMP  STORIES  AND    TJIE  ATTACK.  9i 


begin  at  tlic  beginning-,  as  Father  Murpliy  used  to  say 
whin  hcwint  to  carve  a  chicken  tail  foremost,  I  was  born 
in  oulcl  Ireland,  not  a  thousand  miles  from  Cor-r-k, 
iayther  ways.  Me  father  (pace  to  his  ashes,  barring  I 
niver  saan  the  proof  that  he  was  me  father,  and  there  was 
dispute  about  it),  was  a  gintleman  laborer,  as  had  ])lenty 
to  do  all  his  life  and  little  to  ate.  lie  hjved  whisky,  the 
ould  chap,  spaking  riverintly  ;  and  one  day  he  took  it 
into  his  head  to  die,  by  token  as  he  said  there  wasn't  air 
enough  for  iverybody  to  brathe,  and  he'd  jist  sacrifice 
himself  a  marthyr  for  the  good  of  others. 

"Will,  me  mother,  she  became  a  widdy  in  coorse,  and 
took  on  mighty  bad  about  her  Saint  Denis,  as  she  called 
me  dead  father — though  it's  little  of  a  saint  as  she 
thought  him  whin  living — and  so,  to  drown  her  sorrow, 
she  took  to  the  bothel  too,  and  soon  after  died  spaachless, 
calling  for  wather,  wather,  the  ounly  time  I'd  iver  heerd 
her  mintion  it,  and  by  token  o'  that  I  knowed  she  was 
uncanny. 

"  Will,  gintlemen,  ye  sae,  by  raason  of  both  me 
parents  dying,  I  was  lift  a  hilpless  infant  orphan  of  four- 
teen, widout  father  or  mother,  or  a  shilling  in  me  pocket, 
or  a  divil  of  a  pocket  in  me  coat,  barring  that  it  wasn't  a 
coat  at  all,  at  all,  ounly  rags  sowed  thegither,  jist.  Me 
father's  and  mother's  estate  comprehinded  ounly  a  bed, 
some  pots  and  kithles,  two  broken  stools,  and  a  table  as 
had  its  legs  cut  off  for  kindling  wood.  So,  ye  sae,  that 
was  soon  sittled  ;  and  thin  I  was  lift  a  poor,  houseless 
wanderer,  widout  a  place  to  go  to,  or  a  relation  in  the 
wide  wor-r-ld,  barring  three  brothers  as  was  away,  an 
uncle,  two  aunts,  and  about  a  dozen  cousins,  all  poorer 
nor  mesilf.  Will,  I  took  to  crying  for  a  living,  and  a 
mighty  nice  time  I  had  on't,  till  one  day  Father  Murphy 
come  along  and  axed  me  would  I  like  to  come  and  live 
wid  him.  Faith,  now,  an'  maybe  it  wasn't  long  saying 
yis  I  w^as. 

"  Now's  you're  afther  having  a  short  "story,  I'll  skip 
over  four  years,  and  till  yees  what  turned  up  thin,  by  way 
of  variety. 

"  The  praast.  Father  Murphy,  ye  sae,  had  a  beauthiful 
niece,  as  was  jist  me  age,  barring  that  she  was  a  couple 


92    CAMP   STORIES  AND    THE  ATTACK. 


o'  years  younger.  Now  ye  must  know  I  iver  had  a  fond- 
ness for  the  famale  sex,  and  I  kind  o'  took  to  liking 
Kathleen  by  raasonof  natheral  instinct.  And  Kathleen, 
the  darling  !  she  sort  o'  took  to  liking  me  betimes — more 
by  token  I  was  a  dacent  body,  and  she  hadn't  iny  one 
bether  to  like  ;  and  so,  betwaan  us,  we  both  thought 
about  each  other  waking,  and  dramed  about  'em  in  our 
slaap.  Now  divil  a  word  did  the  praast  know  of  it,  at 
all,  at  all,  and  that  was  all  the  bether  for  the  pair  of  us. 

"  At  last  I  got  to  making  love  to  her,  and  tilling  her 
she  was  too  swaat  a  being  to  be  living  all  alone  by  her- 
silf  jist  ;  and  that  if  her  poor  parints  should  be  took 
away,  like  mine  was,  and  she  become  a  poor  orphan  like 
mesilf,  what  would  she  be  afther  doing  for  a  protictor, 
and  all  thim  things  1  She  cried,  she  did,  and  she 
sez  : 

"  '  Teddy,'  sez  she,  *  what  would  become  o'  me  ?* 

*"  It's  not  knowing,'  I  sez,  'and  it's  a  mighty  har-r-d 
thing  to  go  by  guess  work  on  sich  occasions.' 

"At  that  she  cried  the  more,  by  token  her  inner  faal- 
ings  was  touched,  and  axed  me  would  I  conthrive  a  way 
to  git  her  out  o'  her  throubles. 

" '  Ah,  faith,'  sez  I,  all  of  a  sudden,  *  I  have  it  now  !* 

"  '  What  is,  Teddy,  dear  !'  sez  she. 

"'Och!  come  to  your  Teddy's  arms,  and  he'll  be 
father,  and  mother,  and  victuals  and  drink  to  yees,  my 
own  swaat  Kathleen  !'  I  sez. 

"Ah,  the  darling!*'  pursued  Teddy — "  blissings  on 
her  sowl,  be  it  where  it  will  !  and  pace  to  her  ashes,  if 
she's  dead,  which  I'm  not  knowing,  and  hoping  conthra- 
wise — she  fill  right  into  me  arms,  and  comminced  crying 
jist  like  wather  dripping  through  a  sieve.  And  thin, 
ye  sae,  I  cried  too,  more  by  token  o'  saaing  her  cry  than 
that  I  felt  bad  like,  at  all,  jist.  Will,  I  wiped  me  eyes 
wid  me  sleeve,  and  had  jist  begun  to  say  comfortable 
things  to  her,  whin  who  should  happen  along  but  the 
praast,  her  uncle  ! 

"  '  Och,  ye  spalpeen  !  and  what  is  it  ye're  at  there,  ye 
villain  ?'  sez  he. 

"  At  this  Kathleen  give  an  awful  scraam,  and  rin  for 
the  house,  laving  me  alone  to  fight  the  mather  out.  I 


CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK.  93 


filt  mighty  small  jist  thin,  yc'd  better  belavc,  and  vvislicd 
wid  all  mc  heart  an  arthquakc  would  open  and  swallcr 
the  pair  of  us. 

"I  saan  the  praast  was  in  a  dangerous  timpcr,  and  I 
knowed  something  was  coming,  asy  as  squaaling  to  a 
pig.  But  I'll  not  provoke  his  riverince,  I  sez  to  inesilf, 
or  he'll  jist  murther  me  outright,  widout  judge  or 
jury. 

"  *  Who  are  ye  ?'  sez  he,  coming  up  and  taking  me  by 
the  collar  of  me  coat,  barring  that  me  coat  had  no  collar, 
and  I  stood  in  me  shirt  sleeves,  jist.  '  Who  are  ye  ?'  sez 
he;  and  thin  he  shook  me  till  me  teeth  rattled. 

"'I'm  Teddy  O'Lagherty,  your  riverince,'  sez  I. 

**  *  Ye're  a  baastly  dog  !'  sez  he. 

"  '  Troth,  and  so  was  me  father  before  me,*  sez  I  ;  *  and 
hisn  before  that  ;'  for  I  wanted  to  plase  him. 
"  '  Ye're  a  blaggard  !*  sez  he. 
"  'That  comes  by  nathur,'  sez  I. 

"  '  Ye're  a  scoundrel — a  villain — a  maan,  contimptible 
spalpeen  !'  sez  he. 

"  '  Sure,  and  that  comes  by  associations,'  sez  I. 

"  At  this  Father  Murphy  got  as  rid  in  the  face  as  a 
baat,  and  I  thought  he  would  swaller  me  widout  cooking 
or  buther. 

'* '  What  was  yees  adoing  here  wid  Kathleen  ?*  sez 

he. 

Loving  her,  your  riverince,'  sez  I. 

"'And  how  dare  you  love  sich  as  she?*  sez  he. 

"  '  Troth,  and  I'm  thinking  her  as  good  as  mesilf, 
your  riverince,'  I  sez. 

"At  that  I  thought  he'd  choke  himsilf,  he  held  his 
grip  so  tight  upon  his  own  throat.  Jabers  !  but  it  was 
rejoicing  I  was  that  it  wasn't  mesilf's  he  fingered  that 
a  ways. 

"'  Teddy,*  sez  he,  afther  a  bit,  and  spaking  more  calm 
like,  though  I  knowed  the  divil  was  behind  it  all  : 
'Teddy,  I'm  goin'  to  have  yees  whipped  to  death,  and 
thin  sint  away  for  a  baastly  vagabone,  to  arn  yees  own 
living  in  the  cowld  world  !'  sez  he. 

" '  Jist  as  plases  your  riverince,*  sez  I.    *  But,  sure, 


94    CAMP  STORIES  AND   THE  ATTACK. 


ye'U  be  afther  knowing  I've  done  many  worse  things 
than  love  the  swaat  Katlileen,  blissings  on  her  sowl  !' 

And  do  ye  raaly  love  her?'  sez  he,  in  a  softher 

voice. 

"  *  Och,  your  riverince,  and  is  it  mesilf  as  loves  good 
eatables,  now  ?' 

"  '  Will,  thin,'  sez  he,  *for  the  sake  of  me  niece,  as  is 
the  apple  o'  me  eye,  I'll  pardon  yees,  on  one  condition.* 

"*And,  sure,  what  might  that  be,  your  riverince?' 
sez  I. 

"  *  That  ye'U  lave  the  counthry,  and  niver  come  into 
it  agin,*  sez  he. 

"  '  What,'  sez  I,  faaling  me  anger  rising,  ^  and  lave 
darling  Kathleen  all  alone  by  hersilf,  widout  a  pro- 
tictor  !  Be  jabers,  Father  Murphy,  it's  me  own  motlier's 
son  as  ud  sae  me  own  head  cut  off  first,  and  thin  I 
wouldn't.' 

"'What!'  sez  he,  gitting  his  dander  riz  agin;  *and 
does  yees  dare  to  talk  that  a  ways  to  me,  as  has  raised 
yees  from  poverty  to  be  me  own  sarving  man,  and  gin  )e 
the  bist  of  ivery  thing  as  was  lift  whin  we  and  the  pigs 
had  all  done?  Say  that  to  me  face,  as  has  been  a  father 
to  yees,  ye  ungrateful  yarlet  ?  I'll  have  yees  horse- 
whipped out  of  town,  so  i  will  !' 

And  if  ye  does,'  sez  I,  '  I'll  staal  around  and  rin  off 
wid  Kathleen,  as  sure's  me  name's  Teddy  O'Lagherty, 
and  Dennis  O'Lagherty  was  me  father' — which  wasn't  so 
sure,  d'ye  mind  !  but  Father  Murphy  didn't  know  that. 

"This  put  him  to  thinking  agin  ;  and  afther  a  bit  he 
sez,  quite  amiable  like  : 

"  '  An'  sure  you  wouldn't  be  afther  doing  that,  now,  to 
one  as  has  trated  ye  iver  wid  sich  respict,  Misther 
O'Lagherty  ?'  sez  he. 

"  *  Howly  Moses  !'  thinks  I ;  *  what's  a  coming  now  ? 
Ayther  a  mighty  sto-r-m,  or  sunshine,  sure — for  I'd  niver 
hearn  the  praast  spaak  that  ways  afore. 

"  '  Misther  O'Lagherty,'  sez  he,  agin,  '  I  love  ye.' 

"  *  Faith,'  sez  I,  '  and  it's  glad  I  am  to  hear  the  likes, 
more  by  raason  ye  niver  showed  the  faaling  at  all,  at  all.' 

"'Will,  ye  think  of  gitting  Kathleen — but  it's  all  in 
your  eye,'  sez  he.    '  Siie  don't  care  for  ye,  me  son  !' 


CAMP   STORIES  AND    THE  ATTACK,  95 


"  *  That's  a  lie  !'  sez  I — *  be£yging  your  riverince's  par- 
don for  spaaking  plain  Inglisli  !' 

"  Fatiicr  iMurpliy  bit  his  lips,  and  his  two  eyes  looked 
jist  like  fire-balls,  they  did. 

"'Will,' sez  he,  sez  Father  Murphy,  'we'll  let  that 
pass  :  but  she  can  niver  be  yourn,  Teddy,  by  raason  of 
her  being  bargained  to  another.' 

"  *  That  alters  the  case,'  sez  I. 

"  *  It  does,'  sez  he.  'Now,  ye  sae,  me  son,  ye  can't 
make  nothing  by  staying  round  here — not  a  bit  of  it — 
and  as  I  maan  to  do  the  gintaal  by  yees,  I'd  like  to  be 
knowing  what  ye'd  ax  to  lave  the  counthry,  and  have  the 
money  down  ?' 

"  *  And,  sure,  where'd  I  go  ?'  sez  I. 

*'  *  To  Amirica,'  sez  he. 

"  Will,  Fdal'ays  hearn  of  Amirica — and  what  a  blissed 
counthry  it  was  for  liberty,  ladies  and  poor  folks — and 
the  notion  plazed  me  ;  and  besides,  I  knovved  what  the 
praast  said  about  my  niver  gitting  Kathleen  was  thrue. 
So  I  thinks  it  over  a  wee  bit,  and  sez  : 

<  Why,  Father  Murphy,'  sez  I,  'saaing  it's  you,  and 
you're  a  gintleman  I  respict,  I'll  go,  if  ye'll  give  me 
dacent  clothes,  pay  me  passage  out,  and  five  pounds  to 
dhrink  your  riverince's  health.' 

"  He  wanted  to  baat  me  down  ;  but  I  saan  I  had  him, 
and  I  swore  divil  a  step  would  I  stir  widout  he'd  do  my 
axing.    At  last  sez  he  : 

'*  '  Teddy,  I'll  do  it,  if  }'e'll  agree  to  start  right  off,  and 
niver  sae  Kathleen  agin — otherwise  I  won't.' 

"  'It's  har-r-rd,  so  it  is,'  sez  I ;  but  I  was  afeard  he'd 
back  out  if  I  didn't  accept  soon,  and  so  I  towld  him,  '  It's 
a  bargain,  your  riverince.* 

"  'Stay  a  minnet,  thin,'  sez  he  ;  and  he  rin  into  the 
house  and  brought  me  out  ten  sovereigns.  'These'll  pay 
everything,'  sez  he  ;  '  and  so  lave  now,  and  niver  show 
your  dirthy  face  here  agin,  or  FU  have  yees  up  for 
staaling.' 

"  'Troth,'  sez  I,  feeling  like  a  lord,  wid  me  hands  on 
the  goold,  'it's  not  throubled  wid  me  ye'll  be  agin  soon  ! 
The  top  o'  the  morning  to  your  riverince  !'  and  so  I  left 
him. 


96  A    FIGHT    WITH  INDIANS. 


"Will,  to  wind  up,  I  corned  to  Amirica,  and  spint  all 
me  fortune,  and  then  wint  to  work  and  earned  more 
money,  and  thin  wint  thraveling  to  sae  what  I  could  find, 
whin,  blissings  on  me  luck  (turning  to  me),  I  fill  into 
your  honor's  sarvice,  for  which  good  bit  of  accident  I'm 
mighty  glad  now  !    That's  me  story." 

At  the  moment  Teddy  concluded,  and  ere  a  single 
comment  or  remark  had  escaped  our  lips,  a  frightful  vol- 
ley of  musket  balls  flew  round  us  like  hail  ;  and  one  of 
our  party,  springing  up  with  a  yell,  fell  back  a  corpse. 


CHAPTER  X. 


A  DESPERATE  FIGHT  WITH  INDIANS, 

pNDIANS  !"  was  the  simultaneous  cry  which 
g  burst  from  our  lips,  as  each  man  grasped 
fe;  his  rifle  and  sprung  to  his  feet. 
Z  "Tree,  boys!"  cried  Black  George,  just 
as  a  series  of  terrific  yells  resounded  on  all 
sides,  and  a  host  of  dusky  figures  were  seen  bearing 
down  upon  us  from  every  direction  but  one,  which 
seemed  providentially  left  open  for  our  safety. 

Toward  this,  the  only  point  of  compass  possible  for 
us  to  escape  without  a  personal  conflict,  we  fled  pre- 
cipitately, and  soon  reached  a  small  clump  of  trees, 
which  afforded  us  immediate  protection,  leaving  our 
dead  comrade  in  possession  of  the  savages. 

With  yells  of  triumph  a  dozen  of  the  latter  rushed 
up  to  the  unfortunate  trapper,  and  one  of  the  number 
instantly  tore  off  his  scalp,  while  several  others  buried 
their  knives  in  his  body  to  make  sure  of  their  victim. 

Meantime  the  rest  of  the  party,  which  consisted  of 
some  thirty  in  all,  made  for  our  retreat,  uttering 
demoniac  yells  of  barbarous  exultation,  doubtless  fancy- 
ing us  an  easy  prey. 


A    FIGHT    WITH  INDIANS.  97 


"  Now,  boys,"  cried  Black  Gecrr£ye,  in  a  stentorian 
voice,  "everj  man  pick  a  Injin,  and  guv  the  skunks 
thunder  !" 

His  advice  did  not  need  a  repetition  ;  for  scarcely 
were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  wiien  crack  went  our 
six  rifles;  and,  almost  miraculous  to  record,  six  of  the 
foremost  assailants  rolled  howling  in  the  dust — each 
man,  by  a  friendly  providence,  having  selected  a  separate 
target  with  a  fatal  aim. 

This  was  a  result  as  unlooked  for  by  us  as  alarming 
to  our  foes,  who  suddenly  halted  and  rent  the  air 
with  howls  of  rage  and  dismay. 

While  it  staggered  them,  it  gave  us  courage,  and 
in  the  moment  of  their  indecision  and  our  triumph  the 
voice  of  Black  George  was  heard  shouting  the  inspirit- 
ing words  : 

"  Wall  done,  boys  !  Poller  me,  and  let  us  bark  our 
pups  and  butcher  at  close  quarters  !" 

Saying  this,  he  sprung  forward  with  a  yell,  a  pro- 
ceeding we  all  imitated  ;  and  before  the  astonished 
savages  were  fully  aware  of  what  was  taking  place,  they 
found  us  in  their  midst,  shouting,  shooting  and  cutting, 
with  a  daring,  activity  and  ferocity  they  had  probably 
never  seen  equaled. 

So  suddenly  had  we  become  assailants  in  turn,  and 
so  vigorously  did  we  press  upon  them,  that  they  instantly 
wavered,  became  confused,  and,  after  a  slight  resistance, 
took  to  flight,  leaving  four  more  of  their  number  to 
keep  company  with  the  first  unfortunate  six. 

Being  all  more  or  less  experienced  in  Indian  warfare, 
we  were  consequently  wise  enough  not  to  follow  them, 
well  knowing  they  would  return  to  the  charge  as  soon  as 
pressed  into  cover. 

Both  of  Black  George's  companions  had  been 
wounded  in  the  melee,  but  not  dangerously,  and  we  now 
congratulated  ourselves  with  a  triumphant  shout  on  our 
success. 

'*  Reckon  they'll  stay  put  till  we  kin  butcher  and  raise 
these  here  dogs'  ha'r,"  said  the  old  trapper  ;  and  forth- 
with all  set  to  work,  save  myself,  in  killing  the  wounded 
and  scalping  the  slain. 


98  A    FIGHT    WITH  INDIANS. 


When  this  bloody  business  was  over,  Black  George 
observed  : 

"  This  heyar  coon  wonders  how  the  rascals  feels  now  ! 
Mayhap  they've  got  a  notion  in  thar  heads  that  they're 
some  in  a  b'ar-fight.  Sarved  'em  right,  the  blasted  pos- 
sums! What  business-  had  they  to  be  pitching  into  us, 
when  we  was  tellin'  stories  and  troublin*  nobody  ! 
Augh  !" 

"By  gar,  I  tink  so!"  added  the  Frenchman,  as  he 
gave  his  olfactory  organ  an  extra  dose  and  his  shoulders 
an  unusually  vigorous  shrug.  Ha  !  ha  !  Monsieur  Blake 
Shorge — you  say  ver  mochetrue — sarve  him  right.  Cer- 
tainment,  he  got  von  most  ver  good  exsallant — vot 
you  call  him — drubbing,  eh  ?    Ha  !  ha  !  certainment." 

"Och,  now,  but  didn't  the  blaggards  look  a  wee  bit 
astonished,  the  spalpeens  !"  joined  in  Teddy.  Faith  ! 
but  I  thought  whin  they  rin,  maybe  as  it  was  a  race  they 
was  rinning  for  whisky  or  the  likes." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  we  have  been  fortunate  so  far,  that 
is  certain  ;  and  now  let  us  take  care  for  the  future.  Loud 
quick,  my  friends,  and  let  us  bring  our  animals  together, 
or  the  Indians  may  rally  and  dash  upon  them  and  leave 
us  in  a  bad  condition." 

''Right,  boy  !"  cried  Black  George,  with  a  start :  "I'd 
forgot.  What  an  old  fool  I  is  sometimes  !  Quick  !  or  the 
skunks  will  head  us — for  I  knows  'em  of  old." 

Fortunately  for  us  the  Indians  had  not  as  yet  made  a 
seizure  of  our  horses — (which,  at  the  time  of  the  attack, 
were  quietly  feeding  in  the  valley,  but  were  now  running 
to  and  fro  and  snuffing  the  air) — thinking,  I  suppose,  that 
victory  for  them  was  certain,  and  well  knowing  that  an 
attempt  to  take  the  animals  first  v;ould  create  an  alarm 
and  perhaps  defeat  their  design  of  making  us  their 
victims.  Our  possibles,  too,  had  escaped  them,  probably 
from  being  concealed  under  the  brushwood  collected 
for  our  fire,  and  also  from  their  being  put  to  flight  so 
suddenly. 

All  these  were  certainly  matters  for  congratulation  ; 
and  hurriedly  removing  our  property  beyond  the  fire- 
light, I  ordered  Teddy  and  Pierre  to  guard  it  with  their 


A   FIGHT    WITH  INDIANS. 


9^ 


lives  ;  while  the  rest  of  us,  having  reloaded  our  rifles, 
set  off  to  collect  our  animals. 

We  had  not  been  any  too  soon  in  this  matter;  for  the 
Indians,  having  recovered  from  their  first  alarm  and  con- 
fusion, were  now  espied  dodging  from  tree  to  tree,  with 

Jhe  evident  intention  of  getting*  between  us  and  the 

fbeasts  and  capturing  the  latter. 

"  Heyar's  a  fix,"  observed  Black  George,  making  a 
halt.  "  Ef  we  go  for'ard  the  cussed  varmints  will  pick 
us  off  and  make  meat  on  us  ;  and  ef  we  stay  here-a-ways, 
they'll  cotch  our  critters  and  leave  us  to  foot  it.  I'll  be 
dog-gone  ef  it  don't  look  like  a  dilemmer,  as  I  hearn  a 
scholard  say  onc't — that's  a  fact." 

It  was  a  dilemma,  sure  enough,  and  how  to  act  was  a 
matter  of  great  moment.  We  could  not  charge  upon  the 
savages  as  we  had  done  before,  for  they  had  treed"  in 
every  direction,  and,  as  Black  George  observed,  would 
be  sure  to  pick  us  off  singly.  To  lose  our  animals  was 
not  to  be  thought  of,  for  this  would  in  a  measure  place 
us  in  their  power.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Several  prop- 
ositions were  made  by  one  and  another,  but  all  in  turn 
rejected  as  being  impracticable. 

Meantime  the  Indians  were  not  inactive;  and  though 
the  night  was  without  moon,  w^e  could  occasionally  per- 
ceive a  figure  flitting  before  us  like  a  shadow,  and  the 
circle  they  had  made  around  our  horses  gradually  nar- 
rowing. It  was  a  time  for  action  of  some  kind,  and  yet 
we  stood  irresolute. 

At  length  the  old  trapper  suggested  that  we  should 
separate,  arid  each  shift  for  himself  in  the  manner  best 
calculated  to  annoy  our  foes.  This  was  the  best  plan  as 
yet  proposed,  and  was  instantly  adopted. 

We  had  already  begun  to  put  it  into  execution,  when, 
to  our  astonishment,  a  small  body  of  horsemen,  with 
loud  yells,  suddenly  dashed  out  from  a  distant  thicket, 
and,  separating,  bore  down  upon  the  rear  of  our  ene- 
mies. 

The  next  moment  we  heard  the  sharp  crack  of  tire- 
arms,  mingled  with  the  shouts  of  the  assailants,  and 
yells  of  terror  from  the  surprised  Indians,  who  instantly 
took  to  flight  in  all  directions. 


A    FIGHT    WITH  INDIANS. 


In  their  confusion  a  portion  ran  toward  ns,  and  were 
received  by  a  well-directed  volley,  which  wounded  one, 
killed  two,  and  increased  the  alarm  of  the  survivors,  who 
instantly  changed  their  course  and  fled  toward  the  west- 
ern hills,  only  to  find  their  flight  intercepted  by  an  oc- 
casional  horseman.  .,-011^- 

"  Don't  know  who  fights  for  us,"  cried  Black  George, 
<'and  don't  care  a  kick— but  know  they's  some— and  so 
let's  arter  'em,  and  disconflumicate  the  infarnal  skunks  all 

we  kin."  ,  .  1  * 

Saying  this,  the  trapper  set  forward  in  eager  chase  of 
the  flying  foe,  an  example  we  all  followed,  and  for  the 
next  quarter  of  an  hour  the  valley  presented  an  inde- 
scribable scene  of  confusion  and  excitement. 

Nothing  of  life  could  be  seen  but  flying  fugitives, 
hotly  pursued  by  a  bitter  en^my,  whose  only  mercy  was 
instant  death;  and  nothing  heard  but  shrieks,  yells, 
groans  and  shouts  of  triumph— these  from  victors,  those 
from  vanquished— together  with  the  constant  sharp  crack 
of  fire-arms,  and  the  clashing  of  knives,  as  here  and  there 
two  met  in  personal  and  deadly  conflict.  To  use  a  mill- 
tary  phrase,  the  rout  was  total,  the  enemy  badly  beaten, 
and  the  victorious  skirmishers  only  withdrew  from  the 
field  of  conflict  for  want  of  a  foe. 

During  the  melee  we  had  all  become  mixed  up  ;  and 
but  for  the  distinguishing  diiference  of  color  and  equip- 
ments, we  might,  owing  to  the  darkness,  have  made  sad 
havoc  with  our  best  friends. 

But  the  new-comers  were  whites,  and  there  was  no 
difficulty  in  distinguishing  between  them  and  the  sav- 
ages. Who  they  were,  and  how  they  had  come  here  so 
opportunely  for  us,  were  enigmas  I  had  no  time  nor  op- 
portunity to  solve  till  the  affray  was  over.  Whoever 
they  were,  however,  they  were  brave  to  a  fault— if  f  may 
call  that  courage  a  fault  which  is  reckless  of  self-preser- 
vation—and they  fought  like  demons.        ,    ,  , 

One  of  their  party,  whom  I  took  to  be  the  leader,  dis- 
played an  agility,  intrepidity  and  fierceness  I  had  never 
seen  equaled  but  once.  Mounted  on  a  fiery  steed,  which 
seemed  to  comprehend  his  slightest  wish,  he  rushed 
among  the  frightened  savages ;  and  twice,  as  he  passed 


A    FIGHT    WITH  INDIANS. 


near  me,  did  I  observe  him  bend  from  his  saddle,  seize 
the  scalp-lock  of  an  Indian,  and  stab  him  in  the  neck, 
only  slightly  checking  the  speed  of  his  horse. 

A  long,  loud  shout  at  last  attested  our  complete  vic- 
tory ;  when  I,  in  company  with  my  companions, 
approached  our  deliverers,  to  return  our  sincere  thanks 
for  their  timely  aid. 

Moving  up  to  the  personage  I  supposed  to  be  the 
leader,  who  now  sat  quietly  on  his  horse,  surrounded  by 
a  dozen  stalwart  figures,  all  mounted,  I  said  : 

"  Whom  have  I  the  honor  to  thank  for  this  invaluable 
assistance  at  a  point  of  time  so  critical  to  us  ?" 

"  Why,  as  to  thanks,"  answered  the  one  addressed,  in 
a  voice  that  seemed  familiar  to  me,  "  I  don't  'spect  thar's 
any  needed  ;  but  ef  you  thank  anybody,  thank  all — for 
every  man's  done  his  duty,  and  nothing  more." 

"  I  fancy  I  know  your  voice,"  I  rejoined,  "  but  I  can- 
not see  your  features." 

"Well,  it  struck  me  as  Fd  heard  your's  afore,"  re- 
turned the  intrepid  horseman  ;  and  he  bent  forward  in 
his  saddle  for  a  closer  scrutiny  of  my  person. 

At  this  moment  Black  George  came  up,  and,  casting 
one  glance  at  the  speaker,  exclaimed  : 

"  Kit  Carson,  or  I'm  a  liar  !  Reckon  you  knows  old 
Black  George,  don't  ye?"  and  in  an  instant  the  two 
were  shaking  hands  with  the  hearty  familiarity  of  old 
friends. 

"  Kit  Carson  !"  cried  I,  in  surprise.  "  Well,  sir,  I 
might  have  known  it  Was  you,  from  your  manner  of  fight- 
ing ;"  and  in  turn  I  seized  his  hand  with  one  of  my 
strongest  grips. 

"  You  have  a  leetle  the  advantage  of  me  yet,"  said 
Kit,  when  I  had  done. 

"  I  presume  you  have  not  forgotten  Frank  Leighton, 
and  the  fight  at  IBitter  Cottonwood  ?"  I  replied. 

"  Good  heavens  !  is  it  indeed  you  ?  Why,  I  thought 
you  war  rubbed  out  thar,  and  I've  never  heard  anything 
of  you  sence.  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir ;"  and  an  extra 
grip  and  shake  of  the  hand  convinced  me  he  meant  what 
he  said.    "  I'll  have  a  talk  with  you,  by-an<i-by  ;  but  just 


A    FIGHT    WITH  INDIANS. 


now  we  mountain  men  hev  got  a  right  smart  chance  at 
sculping— after  which  I'm  at  your  service." 

While  most  were  occupied  in  the  barbarous  practice 
(1  can  never  call  it  by  a  milder  term),  of  scalping  the 
slain,  I  called  Teddy,  Pierre  and  one  or  two  others  to  my 
aid,  and  proceeded  to  collect  and  picket  the  frightened 
animals. 

This  was  no  easy  task,  and  it  was  at  least  an  hour  be- 
fore order  and  quiet  were  again  restored. 

In  the  meantime  the  Indians  were  scalped  and  rifled 
of  everything  valuable,  and  then  left  to  feed  the  wolves, 
some  of  which  had  already  begun  their  feast,  and  were 
fast  being  joined  by  others. 

Of  the  slain,  we  counted  in  all  twenty-three  carcasses  ; 
so  that  it  was  evident  that  only  a  few,  perhaps  only  five 
or  six,  escaped,  and  these  doubtless  more  or  less 
wounded.  Of  my  party,  not  one  was  injured  in  this  last 
affray  ;  but  several  of  the  horsemen  had  received  cuts  and 
stabs,  though  none  of  a  dangerous  character. 

When  we  had  all  collected  around  the  camp-fire,  the 
wounded  were  looked  to,  and  their  wounds  dressed  as 
well  as  circun^stances  would  allow. 

This  done,  we  proceeded  to  bury  the  mountaineer,  who 
had  been  killed,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  at  the  on- 
set. 

As  soon  as  all  these  matters  were  arranged,  we 
squatted  down  in  a  circle  round  the  fire,  to  talk  over  the 
events  of  the  last  two  hours.  ^ 

I  now  had  an  opportunity  of  conversing  with  Carson, 
which  I  eagerly  embraced.  I  informed  him,  in  brief,  of 
all  that  had  occurred  since  we  last  met,  and  listened  to 
a  hasty  recital  of  his  own  adventures,  the  principal  part 
oi  which  referred  to  Fremont's  first  expedition,  and  is 
already  before  the  public.  *  ,     ,  j 

He  said  that,  after  parting  with  Fremont,  he  had 
been  engaged  to  conduct  a  party  to  California,  and  was 
on  his  return  to  St.  Louis,  by  way  of  Uintah  Fort,  St. 
Vrains,  and  Fort  Laramie,  when,  stopping  at  the  first 
mentioned,  he  found  the  present  party  of  adventurers 
anxious  to  obtain  a  guide  to  Taos,  and  thence  to  Santa 
Fe,  and  that  they  had  induced  him  to  a;comp.iny  them 


A    FIGHT    WITH  INDIANS.  103 


as  far  as  Taos.  He  said  they  had  been  on  our  trail  for 
some  time,  but  had  not  come  in  sight  of  us  until  the 
present  evening,  when,  camping  just  the  other  side  ot 
one  of  the  surrounding  hills,  he,  in  a  short  r';^mble,  had 
accidentally  discovered  our  camp-fire  and  had  deter- 
mined on  joining  us  in  the  morning.  The  attack  on  us 
by  the  Indians  had  been  heard,  and  as  soon  as  possible 
thereafter  the  whole  party  had  come  to  our  aid,  with 
what  result  the  reader  knows. 

He  further  added  that  it  was  rumored  that  Fremont 
had  begun  his  second  expedition,  and  was  even  now  on 
his  route  westward  by  way  of  Bent's  Fort— that  he  was 
anxious  to  join  him— and  that  if  an  arrangement  could 
be  effected  to  do- without  him,  he  would  in  the  morning 
cross  over  to  the  valley  of  the  Arkansas  and  take  a  direct 
course  for  Bent's.  .      t»    •  . 

In  answer  to  my  inquiries  concerning  Prairie  Slower 
and  her  tribe,  he  said  he  had  not  met  with  any  of  them 
since  the  battle  of  Bitter  Cottonwood,  but  that  he  had 
heard  of  their  being  in  this  part  of  the  country  quite 
recently,  and  was  inclined  to  believe  them  somewhere  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Taos  at  the  present  time.  With 
regard  to  my  friend,  he  expressed  much  sorr</W  for  his 
loss,  but  could  give  me  no  information  concerning  him. 

I  was  now  more  than  ever  anxious  to  find  the 
Mysterious  Tribe  ;  for  something  whispered  me  that 
Prairie  Flower  had  been  in  search  of  my  friend— or  at 
least  was  now  with  her  tribe  on  that  errand— or,  if 
neither  of  these  surmises  should  prove  correct,  tnat  I 
could  perhaps  prevail  upon  them  to  assist  me.  At  all 
events  I  determined  on  finding  them  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  accordingly  resolved  to  start  at  daylight  and  push 
through  to  Taos  with  all  haste. 

Busy  thoughts  prevented  me  from  sleeping  on  that 
eventful  night,  and  at  the  first  tinge  of  morning  light  I 
awoke  my  companions  for  the  journey. 

As  w^e  all  had  one  destination,  the  party  of  Carson 
consented  to  part  with  him  and  join  mine  ;  and  shaking 
my  hand,  with  a  hearty  prayer  for  my  success,  he  set 
off  alone  over  the  mountains,  while  we  continued  down 
the  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande. 


I04      GAIN    TIDINGS   OF  MY  FRIEND.  . 


CCHAPTER  XI.  . 


GAIN  TIDINGS  OF  MY  FRIEND. 

[S  our  party  was  now  quite  formidable,  we  had 
no  fears  of  again  being  attacked  so  long  as 
we  remained  together. 

On  the  fourth  day  from  quitting  the  val- 
ley described  in  the  previous  chapter,  we 
entered  the  small  village  of  Taos. 

Here  I  found  a  collection  of  all  nations  and  colors, 
consisting  of  trappers,  hunters,  traders,  adventurers,  and 
so  forth. 

Mingling  with  all  classes,  I  at  once  proceeded  to 
make  inquiries  regarding  the  present  whereabouts  of  the 
Great  Medicine  Tribe,  and  also  if  any  had  seen  or  heard 
of  a  certain  young  man  (giving  a  full  description  of 
Huntly)  being  taken  prisoner  by  the  Indians  or  Mexi- 
cans. 

To  my  first  inquiry,  I  received  from  several  the  an- 
svver,  that  a  singular  tribe  of  Indians,  among  whom  was 
a  beautiful  female,  had  been  seen  in  the  vicinity  within 
a  few  weeks;  but  where  they  now  were,  or  in  what 
direction,  none  could  tell.  As  to  the  latter,  each  rephed, 
with  a  shake  of  the  head,  that  he  could  tell  me  nothing. 
It  was  not  an  uncommon  thing,  they  informed  me,  for  a 
white  man,  an  adventurer,  to  be  taken,  robbed,  held  for 
ransom,  knocked  on  the  head,  or  sold  into  slavery  ;  but 
no  one  remembered  hearing  of,  or  seeing,  such  a  person 
as  I  described. 

To  me  this  news  produced  great  disappointment ;  tor, 
from  some  cause,  which  I  cannot  explain,  I  had  been 
sanguine  of  getting  information  of  Huntly  so  soon  as  I 
should  arrive  at  Taos.  Here,  then,  was  a  complete  over- 
throw of  my  most  ardent  hopes!  anVl  I  now  felt  keenly 
the  weakness  of  the  foundation  ^n  which  I  had  reared 
my  expectations.  I  might  pass  a  long  life  in  a  wearisome 


GAIN    TIDINGS   OF  MY  FRIEND,  '^S 


and  dangerous  search,  and  yet  be  no  wiser  concerning 
Huntly's  fate  at  last. 

There  was  still  a  faint  hope  that.  Prairie  Flower,  who 
I  a.  ibted  not  had  gone  south  with  her  tribe  for  this  pur- 
pose, had  gained  some  information  of  him  ;  and  at  once 
I  determined  on  finding  her,  with  the  additional  resolve, 
that,  should  my  surmises  prove  correct,  and  she  had  failed 
also,  to  set  out  on  my  return  forthwith. 

The  day  following  my  arrival  in  Taos,  I  was  passing 
along  one  of  the  streets,  pondering  upon  these  matters, 
when  I  chanced  to  meet  an  old  mountaineer,  whom  I  did 
not  remember  having  seen  before. 

Determined  to  leave  no  stone  unturned,  I  accosted 
him  with  the  same  inquiry  I  had  made  of  the  others. 

He  stopped,  looked  at  me  attentively  a  moment,  as  if 
to  comprehend  my  questions,  and  then,  in  a  musing, 
half-soliloquizing  manner,  replied  : 

"  'Bout  the  Injins,  don't  know — think  I've  seed  sich — 
won't  be  sartin— don't  like  to  be  sartin  when  I  ain't. 
Yes  !  think  I  hev  seed  'em--yes,  know  1  hev — but  it  war 
two  year  ago,  and  away  up  north  a  thundering  ways. 
Fact.  'Bout  the  other  chap,  don't  know — yes — no — stop 
— let  me  see— y-e-s,  I  reckon — ain't  sartin — what  was  he 
like  ?" 

Here  I  proceeded  to  give  a  description  of  my  friend, 
with  what  conflicting  feelings  of  hope  and  fear  I  leave 
the  reader  to  imagine.  In  fact  my  voice  became  so 
tremulous  that  several  times  I  was  forced  to  stop  and  put 
my  hand  to  my  throat  to  prevent  as  it  were  my  heart 
from  strangling  me. 

"  Git  cool,  and  jest  say  that  thar  over  agin,"  rejoined 
the  other,  when  at  length  I  tremblingly  paused  for  his 
answer. 

I  repeated  it  twice,  before  he  seemed  satisfied. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "I'll  think — let  me  see  !"  and  he  de- 
liberately proceeded  to  take  up  each  point  of  my  descrip- 
tion, and  apply  it  to  some  person  he  had  seen,  making 
his  own  comments  as  he  went  along.  "  Slim  and  grace- 
ful— let  me  see  ! — yes — no — ^^y-e-s — rather  reckon  he  was 
— know  it — fact.  'Bout  twenty-three — stop — let  me 
think  ! — ^yes — reckon  he  mought  be^ — know  he  was — sar- 


io6     GAIN    TIDINGS   OF  MY  FRIEND. 


tin.  Good  face— han'some  featurs— stop— a— y-e-s— 
know  it — settled." 

Thus  he  went  on  until  I  found  my  patience  com- 
pletely exhausted,  and  was  about  to  interrupt  him,  when 
he  suddenly  exclaimed  :  t  u  »» 

"  Seen  him,  stranger,  sartin  as  life— know  I  has. 

"  Where  ?  where  ?"  cried  I,  breathlessly,  grasping  his 
hand. 

*'  San  Domingo." 

*^When?" 

"  'Bout  a  year  ago  !" 

"  God  be  thanked  !    You  are  sure  ?" 

♦'Sartin,  or  I'd  never  said  it." 

**Well!  well  !— what  became  of  him  ?" 
It's  more'n  I  can  say— s'pect  he  war  made  a  slave. 
A  rummy  old  Greaser  had  him,  and  wanted  to  sell  or  git 
him  ransomed.  He  axed  too  high,  and  nobody  traded. 
I  pitied  the  poor  feller,  but  I  hadn't  no  money,  and  thar 
warn't  no  Yankees  thar  then  to  help  me  out  in  takin 
him.  Old  Greaser  went  sothe  ;  and  some  I  axed  shuk 
thar  heads,  and  said  that  old  scamp  war  a  robber  chief 
and  had  lots  o'  help  close  by.    All  I  know,  stranger." 

"  But  do  you  think  he  is  alive  now  ?" 
Can't  say,  ye  see,  'cause  don't  know.    Never  say 
what  don't  know.    Anything  more  to  ax,  stranger?" 

Nothing  that  you  can  answer,"  I  replied  ;  and  thank- 
ing him  kindly  for  his  information,  I  placed  a  gold  coin 
in  his  hand,  and  hurriedly  left  him,  to  seek  out  my  com- 
panions—my spirits,  so  lately  depressed,  now  buoyant 
and  bounding.  i  j 

The  party  which  had  joined  mine  at  the  valley,  had 
not  yet  quitted  Taos  ;  and  calling  all  together,  1  pro- 
ceeded to  lay  before  them  my  joyful  intelligence. 

When  I  had  done,  Black  George  gave  a  shout,  Teddy 
a  whoop,  Pierre  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  doubled  his 
dose  of  snuff,  and  every  one  expressed  his  delight  in  his 
own  peculiar  way. 

The  Rovers— so  our  new  companions  termed  them- 
selves—were nearly  all  young  men  from  the  States,  who 
had  come  West  more  for  adventure  than  speculation  ; 
and  as  I  had  become  a  favorite  with  them  in  the  short 


GAIN    TIDINGS   OF  MY  FRIEND.  107 


time  of  our  acquaintance,  they  at  once  volunteered  me 
their  assistance — an  offer  which  I  accepted  with  tears  of 
gratitude. 

Ordering  out  our  animals,  we  mounted  and  set  for- 
ward immediately,  and,  although  the  day  was  partly 
advanced,  succeeded  in  reaching  Santa  Cruz  about  ni^jht- 
fall. 

By  noon  of  the  next  day  we  rode  into  Santa  Fe — a 
place  of  much  importance  and  notoriety,  from  being 
centrally  located  on  the  great  caravan  route  from  Mis- 
souri to  Southern  California. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  Santa  Fe  contained 
some  four  or  five  thousand  inhabitants,  and  was  the  em- 
porium of  the  Northern  trade  between  New  Mexico  and 
Missouri.  It  was  anything  but  an  agreeable  place,  how- 
ever—its inhabitants  being  mostly  made  up  of  the  off- 
scourings of  the  earth — without  religion,  morality,  or  any 
other  noble  quality.  To  gamble,  steal,  rob  and  murder, 
w^ere  among  the  refined  amusements  of  this  most  worthy 
set.  To  make  matters  still  worse,  there  had  recently  been 
some  difficulty  between  the  Mexicans  and  the  citizens  of 
the  United  States,  and  on  both  sides  existed  a  bitter 
hostility,  which  was  productive  of  the  most  violent 
crimes.  It  was  dangerous  for  any  one  to  traverse  the 
streets  alone,  particularly  after  nightfall,  for  at  every 
corner  he  turned  he  knew  himself  in  danger  of  assassina- 
tion. The  Indians  here  generally  sided  with  the  Mexi- 
cans, and  looked  upon  all  Yankees  as  their  worst 
enemies. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  at  Santa  Fe  011  my  ar- 
rival ;  and  the  same  inimical  feeling,  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent,  prevailed  in  all  the  adjacent  towns. 

As  myself  and  party  had  no  desire  to  quarrel  with 
any  one,  we  took  care  to  be  civil,  always  together,  well 
armed,  and  to  mind  our  own  business  on  all  occasions, 
and  in  consequence  we  fortunately  escaped  without 
molestation. 

Making  several  inquiries  in  Santa  Fe,  and  gaining 
nothing  further  of  Huntly  or  the  Mysterious  Tribe,  we 
pursued  our  course  southward  through  Cinega  to  San 
Domingo. 


io8     GAIN    TIDINGS   OF  MY  FRIEND. 


Here  the  story  of  the  old  trapper  was  so  far  confirmed, 
that  several  persons  remembered  having  seen  the  noto- 
rious robber, Gonzalez,  in  possession  of  a  handsome  young 
prisoner,  whom  he  was  anxious  to  dispose  of,  declaring 
he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  kill  him,  and  could 
not  afford  to  part  with  him  without  recompense  ;  that  no 
one  there  being  disposed  to  purchase  him,  he  had  gone 
further  south  ;  but  as  to  what  had  since  become  of  him 
none  could  afford  me  any  information. 

In  answer  to  my  inquiry  concerning  Prairie  Flower, 
I  learned  that  some  time  ago  she  had  been  seen  in  this 
vicinity  with  her  tribe — that  she  had  made  inquiries  sim- 
ilar to  mine,  and  that  all  had  departed  southward. 

This  news  almost  made  me  frantic  with  joy.  Huntly, 
I  argued,  was  living  ;  Prairie  Flower,  like  some  kind 
angel,  had  gone  to  his  rescue  ;  and  it  might  be  that  even 
now  he  was  free  and  enjoying  her  sweet  companionship. 
The  joyful  thought,  as  I  said,  nearly  drove  me  mad  with 
excitement ;  and  all  my  olden  hopes  were  not  only  re- 
vived, but  increased  by  faith  to  certainties. 

Hurrying  forward  to  San  Bernilla,  on  the  Rio 
Grande,  I  heard  nearly  the  same  tale  as  at  San  Do- 
mingo ;  and  following  down  the  river  to  Torreon,  I 
listened  to  its  repetition — and  at  Valencia,  Nutrias  and 
Alamilla  likewise. 

At  Valverde,  the  next  village  below  the  last  men- 
tioned, I  could  gain  no  intelligence  whatever. 

This  led  me  to  think  Gonzalez  had  disposed  of  his 
prisoner  between  the  two  villages — or,  what  was  just  as 
probable,  had  taken  another  course. 

For  what  I  knew,  he  might  have  crossed  the  Rio 
Grande  and  struck  off  into  the  Sierra  de  los  Mimbres — a 
mountain  chain  only  a  few  miles  to  the  west  of  us — 
whose  lofty,  snow-covered  peaks  rose  heavenward  to  a 
vast  height,  and  had  been  distinctly  visible  to  us  for  sev- 
eral days. 

If  he  had  taken  this  direction,  the  chances  of  tracing 
him  successfully  appeared  much  against  us. 

It  was  equally  as  probable,  too,  he  had  gone  east- 
ward— perhaps  to  Tabira — a  small  village  some  seventy 
miles  distant. 
"I 


GAIN    TIDINGS   OF  MY  FRIEND,  ^og 


But  which  course  should  we  take? 

Consulting  my  friends,  we  at  length  resolved  to  re- 
trace our  steps  to  Alamilla,  make  inquiries  of  all  we 
might  meet  on  the  way,  and  then,  if  we  could  gain  no 
satisfactory  information,  to  strike  out  for  Tabira  on  a 

venture.  ,  ,    ,  t 

This  matter  settled,  we  at  once  turned  back  ;  but  we 
had  not  proceeded  far  when  we  met  a  couple  of  Mexican 
hunters.  . 

As  I  understood  a  smattering  of  Spanish,  I  at  once 
addressed  them,  and,  in  course  of  conversation,  gained 
the  joyful  tidings  that  a  prisoner,  such  as  I  described, 
had  been  purchased  by  a  Mexican,  living  not  more  than 
three  miles  distant,  and  that  in  all  probability  we  should 
find  him  there  now. 

The  path  to  his  residence  having  been  pointed  out, 
I  rewarded  each  of  my  informants  with  a  gold  coin  ;  and 
then,  driving  the  spurs  into  our  horses,  in  less  than  half 
an  hour  we  reined  them  in  before  a  small  hacienda,  much 
to  the  terror  of  the  inmates,  who  believed  we  had  come 
to  rob  and  murder  them. 

Assuring  the  proprietor,  a  rather  prepossessing 
Mexican,  that  in  case  he  gave  us  truthful  answers  no 
harm  should  be  done  him— but  that,  being  partially  in- 
formed already,  the  slightest  prevarication  would  cost 
him  his  tongue  and  ears,  if  not  his  head— I  proceeded 
to  question  him. 

Thus  forewarned,  and  much  in  fear  of  the  execution 
of  the  threat,  he  gave  straightforward  replies,  to  the 
effect  that  more  than  a  year  ago  Gonzalez  had  paid  him 
a  visit,  and  offered  him  an  American  at  a  small  price, 
declaring  that  if  he  did  not  purchase  he  would  knock  the 
prisoner  in  the  head  without  more  ado,  as  he  had  cost 
him  more  time  than  he  was  worth ;  that  at  first,  he  (the 
proprietor  of  the  hacienda)  had  refused  to  bu/,  having 
as  many  slaves  as  he  cared  about  ;.^but  that  something  in 
the  young  man's  appearance,  and  the  appeal  he  made 
with  his  eye,  had  touched  his  feelings,  and  the  bargain 
had  at  length  been  struck.  He  further  stated  that  the 
prisoner  had  not  been  treated  like  the  rest  of  his  slaves, 
but  with  more  respect,  and  had  behaved  himself  like  a 


GAIN    TIDINGS   OF   MY  FRIEND. 


eentleman  and  won  his  confidence.  A  short  time  ago, 
he  continued,  a  small  tribe  of  Indians  had  called  upon 
him  and  offered  a  ransom  for  the  prisoner,  stating  he 
was'an  old  acquaintance  ;  that  he  had  accepted  the  offer, 
and  the  prisoner  had  departed  with  them,  toward  the 
north,  in  fine  spirits.  .     t  ^ 

This  was  the  substance  of  the  information  I  gathered 
here-  but  it  was  enough  to  intoxicate  me  with  joy,  and 
was  received  by  the  rest  of  the  party  with  three  hearty 
cheers,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  the  old  Mexican, 
who  did  not  comprehend  what  was  meant. 

The  prisoner  was  Huntly,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that, 
and  the  Great  Medicine  was  the  Indian  tribe  which  had 
set  him  free.  ,  , 

The  next  thing  was  to  go  in  quest  of  them,  i  hey  had 
e-one  toward  the  north,  and  had  had  some  time  the  start 
of  us  It  might  be  difficult  to  find  them— but  nothing,  1 
fancied,  in  comparison  with  the  task  I  had  first  under- 
taken of  tracing  out  my  friend.  The  Rovers  agreed  to 
accompany  me  as  far  as  Santa  Cruz,  when  having  seen 
me  so  far  safe,  they  designed  returning  to  Santa  Yq. 
It  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  detail  each  day  s  journey. 
Suffice,  that  in  due  time  we  arrived  at  Santa  Cruz, 
where  I  parted  from  the  Rovers,  with  many  expressions 
of  gratitude  on  my  part,  and  heart-felt  wishes  for  my 
success  on  theirs.  _  , 

My  party  was  thus  reduced  to  six  ;  and  as  two  of  the 
number  preferred  remaining  here  to  going  north  im- 
mediately, I  settled  with  them  at  once,  still  retaining 
Teddy,  Pierre  and  Black  George. 

With  these  I  again  set  forward  rapidly,  making  in- 
quiries of  all  I  met.  r  ^ 
For  two  or  three  days  I  could  get  no  tidings  of  the 
Mysterious  Tribe,  and  I  began  to  have  doubts  of  being 
on  the  right  course.                        ^  ^         ^  . 

Fortunately,  before  we  had  decided  on  changing  our 
direction,  we  met  a  party  of  mountaineers,  who  informed 
us  that  a  few  weeks  before  they  had  seen  a  small 
tribe  of  friendly  Indians,  somewhere  between  the  Spanish 
Peaks  and  Pueblo,  among  whom  were  a  white  man  and 
a  beautiful  female  half-breed  ;  that  they  were  moving 


THE   JOYFUL  MEETING. 


Ill 


very  leisurely  toward  the  north  ;  and  that  in  all  prob- 
ability they  were  now  encamped  somewhere  in  the  beau- 
tiful valley  of  the  Arkansas. 

Elated  with  the  most  extravagant  anticipations  of 
soon  realizing  our  sanguine  hopes,  we  again  pressed  for- 
ward for  two  or  three  days ;  and  leaving  the  lofty 
Spanish  Peaks  to  our  right,  tracing  up  the  head  waters 
of  the  Rio  Mora,  we  struck  off  over  the  Green  Moun- 
tains, and  camped  at  last  in  the  far-famed  valley  of  the 
Arkansas,  within  full  view  of  the  eternally  snow-crowned 
Pike's  Peak. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  JOYFUL  MEETING  WITH  MY  FRIEND. 

OR  two  days  after  reaching  the  valley,  our 
search  proved  fruitless,  and  the  reader  can 
better  imagine  my  feelings  than  I  can  de- 
scribe them. 

My  anxiety  to  see  my  long-lost  friend  was 
so  great,  that  I  could  not  rest  at  night,  and  barely  devour 
enough  food  to  support  nature. 

A  consultation  had  resulted  in  shaping  our  course 
up  the  river  ;  and  on  the  third  day  we  had  the  un 
bounded  delight  to  meet  with  a  couple  of  trappers,  who 
informed  us  they  had  seen  the  Great  Medicine  Tribe  only 
two  days  before,  and  that  they  were  then  encamped  on 
a  small  creek,  in  a  lovely  valley,  at  the  base  of  the  south- 
western mountain  chain,  surrounding  what  is  known  as 
the  South  Park,  not  more  than  sixty  or  seventy  miles 
distant. 

Never  can  I  forget  the  feelings  I  experienced,  nor 
the  wild,  prolonged,  and  deafening  cheers  which  re- 
sounded at  this  announcement.  Each  of  my  companions 
seemed  frantic  with  joy  ;  and  as  for  myself,  I  could  have, 


"2  THE   JOYFUL  MEETING, 


clasped  the  informants,  rough  and  half  civilized  as  they 
were,  to  my  beating  heart. 

Becoming  at  last  a  little  more  tranquil,  we  managed 
to  impress  upon  ourselves  a  brief  description  of  the 
route  to  be  taken,  and  then  we  set  forward  with  the 
wildness  of  madmen  just  loosened  from  an  insane 
asylum. 

On,  on  we  dashed,  over  plain,  heath  and  ridges, ' 
through  thickets  and  streams,  till  the  blowing  and  reel- 
ing of  our  animals  warned  us  we  must  be  more  prudent, 
or  their  lives,  at  least,  would  be  the  penalty  df  our  rash- 
ness. 

Throughout  that  day  nothing  was  thought  of,  nothing 
talked  of,  but  our  fortunate  adventure,  and  the  speedy 
prospect  of  gaining  what  we  sought.  Time,  distance, 
everything,  was  everlooked  ;  and  when  the  sun  went 
down,  it  appeared  to  us  that  the  day  had  been  by  half  the 
shortest  of  the  season. 

Very  dilferent  was  it  with  our  horses,  which  were  so 
exhausted  from  hard  riding  that  serious  fears  were 
entertained  lest  we  had  ruined  them.  But  a  thorough 
rubbing  down,  and  an  hour  or  two  of  rest,  revived  them  ; 
and  we  at  last  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them  crop 
the  plentiful  blade  with  their  wonted  gusto. 

I  slept  none  that  night — in  fact  did  not  even  lie  down 
— but  most  of  the  time  paced  the  earth  to  and  fro  before 
the  fire-light,  anxiously  praying  for  the  dawn,  to  resume 
our  journey.  My  companions,  however,  slept  soundly  ; 
for  they  had  far  less  to  think  of  than  I,  and  moreover 
w^ere  sorely  fatigued. 

At  the  first  blush  of  morning  I  roused  them,  and  again 
mounting  we  set  forward. 

As  both  Pierre  and  Black  George  knew  the  country 
well,  we  lost  no  time  by  going  out  of  the  way,  but  took 
the  nearest  and  safest  course  to  the  point  described. 

A  ride  of  four  hours  brought  us  to  the  brow  of  a  hill^ 
looking  down  upon  a  fertile  valley,  where,  joy  inex- 
pressible, we  beheld  a  village  of  temporary  lodges,  and 
a  few  Indians,  vVhoiu  I  instantly  recognized  as  belonging 
to  the  anxiously-sought  tribe. 

"  Hurray  !  we've  got  'em—I'll  be  dog-gone  ef  we 


THE    JOYFUL  MEETING, 


"3 


haint !"  cried  Black  George.  Hurray  for  us  beavers, 
sez  I  !  and  a  quart  on  the  feller  as  is  last  in  !  " 

Uttering  yell  after  yell,  as  wild  as  those  of  savages, 
we  spurred  down  the  hill  with  reckless  velocity,  each 
one  striving  to  lead  the  rest  and  be  the  first  to  reach  the 
goal  of  our  present  desires. 

Had  the  tribe  in  question  not  been  peaceably  inclined, 
this  proceeding  would  have  been  dangerous  in  the  ex- 
treme, and  a  shower  of  rifle  balls  might  have  changed 
our  joyous  shouts  to  cries  of  pain  and  lamentation,  or 
have  put  us  beyond  the  pale  of  mortality. 

Our  rapid  and  tumultuous  approach  alarmed  our 
friends  ;  and  men,  women  and  children  came  running 
out  of  their  huts,  with  fear  depicted  on  their  faces. 

Among  them  were  two  figures  that  fixed  my  atten- 
tion ;  and  trom  that  moment  I  saw  nothing  but  Charles 
Huntly  and  Prairie  Flower  till  my  gallant  beast  stood 
panting  in  the  center  of  the  crowd. 

Charles  !"  I  gasped,'  as  I  leaped  from  my  steed,  my 
brain  fairly  reeling  with  intense  emotion  ;  and,  stagger- 
ing up  to  where  he  stood,  bewildered  and  confused,  I 
threw  my  arms  around  his  neck  and  swooned  in  his  em- 
brace. 

When  consciousness  again  returned,  I  found  myself 
lying  on  a  mat  in  a  small  cabin,  hastily  constructed  of 
sticks  and  skins,  and  my  friend  standing  by  me,  chafing 
my  temples,  dashing  cold  water  in  my  face,  and  entreat- 
ing me  in  the  most  piteous  tones  to  arouse  and  speak  to 
him.  There  were  others  around,  but  I  heeded  them  not. 
1  had  neither  ears,  nor  eyes,  for  any  but  my  friend. 

My  first  glance  showed  me  that  he  was  altered,  but 
not  more  than  I  had  expected  to  find  him.  His  form  was 
somewhat  wasted,  and  his  pale  features  displayed  here 
and  there  a  line  of  grief  and  suffering  which  I  had  never 
before  seen. 

"Frank,"  he  cried,  "for  God's  sake,  look  up,  and 
speak  to  me !" 

"  Charles  !"  I  gasped. 

"Ha!  I  hear  it  again — that  dearly  loved  voice!"  and 
burying  his  head  upon  my  breast  he  wept  aloud. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  had  completely  recovered  from  my 


"4  THE   yOYFUL  MEETING, 

swoon  ;  but  it  was  a  long  time  before  either  of  us  could 
master  his  emotion  sufficient  to  hold  conversation  We 
looked  at  each  other,  pressed  each  other  by  the  hand 
mingled  our  tears  together,  and/^/Z,  in  this  strange  meet' 
ing,  what  no  pen  can  describe,  no  language  express.  We 
'  had  literally  been  dead  to  each  other— we  who  had  loved 
from  childhood  with  that  ardent  love  which  cements  two 
souls  m  one— and  now  Ave  had  come  to  life,  as  it  were  to 
feel  more  intensely  our  friendship  for  the  long  separa- 
tion. Ihe  excess  of  joy  had  nearly  made  us  frantic,  and 
taken  away  the  power  of  speech. 

At  last  we  became  more  tranquil,  when  our  friends, 
who  had  been  present,  but  almost  unnoticed,  withdrew 
and  left  us  to  ourselves. 

^     "And  now,  Frank,"  said  Huntly,  looking  me  earnestly 
m  the  face,  his  eyes  still  dimmed  with  tears,  "  tell  me  the 
news  ?    Have  you  been  home  ?" 
"  I  have  not." 

"  Ah !  then  I  suppose  you  know  nothing  of  our 
friends?  ^ 

"More  than  you  imagine;"  and  I  turned  away  my 
head,  and  sighed  at  the  thought  of  the  mournful  intelli- 
gence I  was  about  to  communicate. 

"^'^•..^T)?^^-"  demanded  Huntly,  with  tremulous 
anxiety.  Why  do  you  avert  your  face Has— has  any- 
thing— happened 

"  Prepare  yourself  for  the  worst,  dear  Charles  !"  I  re- 
plied, in  a  tremulous  tone. 

"  For  the  worst  ?"  he  repeated.  "  Great  Heaven  » 
what  has  happened?  Speak!  quick!  tell  me!  for  sus- 
^  pense  at  such  times  is  hard  to  be  borne  ;  and  our  imagina- 
tion running  wild  with  conjecture,  tortures  us,  it  may 
be,  beyond  the  reality." 

"  In  this  case  I  think  not." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  speak  !"  he  gasped,  with  the  pal- 
lor of  death.  ^    r    ^  ^ 

"  Promise  me  to  be  calm  !" 
"  I  will  do  my  best." 

His  whole  frame  fairly  trembled  with  excitement, 
and  his  forehead  became  damp  with  cold  perspiration 
"  Your  father,  dear  Charles—"  I  began 


THE   JOYFUL  MEETING, 


"5 


"Well?  well?" 

"  Is — is~no  more.  The  sod  has  twice  been  green 
above  him." 

"Oh,  gracious  God!"  he  exclaimed,  throwing  his 
hands  aloft,  with  a  look  of  agony  1  shall  never  forget ; 
and  then,  covering  his  face,  he  groaned  as  one  in  the 
throes  of  death. 

For  some  time  I  did  not  disturb  him,  thinking  it  best 
to  let  his  first  grief  take  its  course  in  silence.  At  length 
I  said  : 

"  Come,  my  dear  friend,  rouse  up  and  be  a  man  !  Do 
not  give  too  much  way  to  your  sorrow  !  Remember, 
that  in  this  world  we  all  have  to  die — that  we  are  doomed 
by  the  immutable  laws  of  nature,  and  the  decrees  of  an 
over-ruling  God,  to  part  from  those  we  most  dearly 
love  !  But  it  is  only  for  a  time.  God  is  wise,  and  good, 
and  does  all  things  for  the  best ;  audit  is  only  a  short 
time,  at  the  longest,  ere  we  in  turn  shall  depart  to  join 
them  in  a  life  beyond  the  reach  of  death.  Cheer  up, 
dear  Charles  !  and  look  upon  your  father  as  one  who  has 
done  with  the  cares  and  perplexities  of  life  and  made  a 
happy  change  !  I  know  how  dearly  you  loved  him — I 
know  the  trial  to  give  him  up  is  most  painful — and  from 
my  very  soul  I  sympathize  with  you  in  your  affliction. 
But,  my  dear  friend,  we  have  other  duties  than  to  bewail 
the  dead  ;  for  the  living  demand  our  attention  ;  and  you 
have  friends  still  left  you,  equally  near  and  dear,  who 
stand  in  need  of  your  most  iron  energies." 

"Alas!"  he  groaned,  his  face  still  hid  in  his  hands ; 
"dead!  dead!  dead  I — and  I — his  only  son — far,  far 
away  !"  He  paused,  and  trembled  violently  for  a  few 
moments,  and  his  breath  came  quick  and  hard.  "But 
you  are  right,  dear  Frank  !"  he  said  at  length,  slowly 
raising  his  face,  now  sadly  altered.  "  You  are  right,  my 
friend  !  We  know  such  things  must,  do,  and  will  take 
place  ;  and  we  should,  to  what  extent  we  can,  be  philoso- 
phers all,  and  strive  to  be  resigned  to  God's  will.  It  is 
terrible,  though — terrible — to  lose  a  beloved  parent,  and 
not  be  at  hand  to  hear  his  parting  words,  nor  see  him  set 
forth  on  that  journey  from  whence  none  ever  return  ! 
But  I — I — will  strive  to  bear  it — to  at  least  appear  calm. 


THE   yOYFUL  MEETING. 


And  now,  dear  Frank — my — my — I  fear  to  mention 
whom — lest  I  hear  more  painful,  heart-rending  tidings  !" 

"  You  mean  your  mother  and  sister?" 

He  grasped  my  arm  nervously,  partly  averted'  his 
head,  as  if  in  dread  of  my  answer,  and  said,  almost 
inaudibly : 

"  I  do." 

"  Be  not  alarmed,  dear  Charles  !    I  left  them  well." 
"Left  them  well?"  he  repeated,  in  surprise.  "Did 
you  not  tell  me  you  had  not  been  home  ?" 
"True  !  neither  have  I." 

"  Then  where  did  you  see  them  ?  and  where  are  they 
now  ?" 

"  I  will  answer  your  last  question  first.  They  are  now 
in  Oregon  City." 

He  gave  me  a  deep,  searching  look,  such  as  one  would 
bestow  upon  a  person  whose  sanity  he  had  just  begun  to 
question. 

"I  do  not  wonder  you  look  surprised,"  I  added  :  "but 
listen  ere  you  doubt  ;"  and  I  proceeded  to  narrate,  as 
briefly  as  I  could,  how  I  had  met  them  near  the  South 
Pass  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  under  what  singular 
circumstances  ;  how  I  had  soon  learned  of  their  mis- 
fortunes, both  in  the  loss  of  their  dearest  friend  and  their 
property— (which  latter  seemed  to  affect  Charles  less 
than  I  had  expected)— how  I  had  there  met  the  Unknown, 
been  warned  of  danger  by  Prairie  Flower,  and  what  had 
followed  ;  how  I  had  subsequently  accompanied  the 
party  to  Oregon  ;  how  I  had  proposed  to  Lilian,  been 
accepted,  and  on  what  conditions  ;  and  how  I  had  at  last 
been  led  to  set  oH  in  search  of  my  dearest  friend,  and 
what  had  happened  on  the  journey. 

In  short,  I  gave  him  condensed  particulars  of  all  that 
had  occurred  since  our  parting,  not  forgetting  my  night 
search  for  him  and  the  effect  of  his  loss  upon  me  at  Los 
Angelos, 

He  listened  attentively  throughout,  occasionally  in- 
terrupting me  with  questions  on  points  of  more  than 
usual  interest,  or  where  in  my  hasty  narration  I  had 
failed  to  make  the  matter  clear  to  him. 

"Strange!   straage !"  he  said,  when  I  had  done; 


THE   JOYFUL  MEETING. 


117 


"very,  very  strange  is  all  this!  It  looks  improbable — ■ 
seems  impossible — and  yet  I  do  not  doubt  your  word. 
So,  then,  I  am  not  worth  a  dollar  ?" 

Do  not  let  that  trouble  you,  Charles!  While  I 
have  money,  neither  you  nor  your  friends  shall  want." 

I  know  that.  Frank,"  he  said,  pressing  my  hand 
warmly  ;  I  know  that.  That,  at  present,  is  the  least  of 
my  concern.  And  so  you  have  seen  the  Unknown  1  and 
she  is  called  Eva  Mortimer.?"  He  mused  a  moment,  and 
added  :  "  Well,  this  is  more  singular  than  all  !  Frank, 
we  must  set  out  for  Oregon  immediately." 

'*  As  soon  as  you  please.  And  now  tell  me  something 
of  your  own  adventures  .?" 

"  Alas  !"  sighed  he,  "  after  the  painful  news  you  have 
communicated,  I  feel  myself  unable  to  enter  into  particu- 
lars. I  will  give  you  something  in  brief,  for  I  know 
your  curiosity  is  excited.  In  fact,  I  will  give  you  the 
outline  of  my  story,  and  anon  will  fill  it  up  with  de- 
tail." 

Proceed." 

*'At  the  time  we  separated  to  follow  the  wounded 
animal,"  he  began,  "  I  hurried  around  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  which  you  were  ascending.  In  my  haste  I 
missed  the  path,  and  had  spent  some  time  in  searching 
for  it,  when  suddenly  I  found  myself  surrounded  by  half- 
a-dozen  guerillas,  who  it  seems  were  in  waiting  for  the 
return  of  a  larger  party,  momentarily  expected,  when  all 
designed  an  attack  upon  some  merchants  coming  in  from 
Santa  Fe.  A  single  glance  showed  me  resistance  would 
be  useless,  and  I  surrendered  myself  a  prisoner.  They 
seized  and  began  stripping  me  of  everything  valuable, 
when  it  occurred  to  me  I  could  let  you  know  my  situa- 
tion, and  I  accordingly  shouted,  as  if  calling  to  a  party 
of  my  friends.  The  next  moment  I  was  seized  and 
gagged  ;  when  the  cowards — fearful  I  suppose  that  this 
precaution  had  been  taken  too  late,  (for  a  cheer  from  you 
was  heard  in  answer,)  and  that  they  might  be  attacked 
soon  if  they  remained  where  they  were — began  to  sneak 
away,  taking  me  with  them. 

"  When  they  had  rendered  themselves  safe,  by  pene- 
trating further  into  the  mountains,  they  kept  quiet  till 


ii8  THE   JOYFUL  MEETING, 


night,  and  then  sallied  forth  to  the  rendezvous,  where 
they  joined  the  others,  in  all  some  twenty  persons. 

"  A  consultation  was  now  held,  as  to  whether  I  should 
be  put  to  death  or  taken  along  and  sold  into  slavery." 
The  latter  was  finally  adopted,  and  Gonzalez,  the  chief, 
took  me  under  his  charge. 

"  Taking  the  great  Spanish  Trail,  we  set  off  toward 
Santa  Fe,  traveling  mostly  in  the  night  and  lying  by 
through  the  day,  often  in  ambush  for  some  unfortunate 
wayfarers,  who,  in  the  encounters  that  sometimes  ensued, 
generally  lost  both  money  and  life. 

"  My  dear  Frank,  I  could  describe  events  which  have 
passed  before  my  own  eyes  that  would  make  your  hair 
stand  with  horror  ;  but  as  these  are  not  necessary  to  my 
present  story,  I  will  omit  them  for  the  present. 

"  It  was  a  strange  fancy  they  had  formed  of  selling 
me  into  slavery,  and  I  could  never  rightly  comprehend 
it.  It  could  not  have  been  for  the  amount  I  would  bring 
' — for  that  was  small,  in  comparison  to  the  trouble  I  must 
have  cost  them  in  guarding  me  from  escape.  No  !  I  am 
inclined  to  think  it  the  result  of  a  whim — perhaps  of  the 
chief — who  ever  treated  me  with  as  much  leniency  as  I 
could  expect,  or  have  dared  to  ask  for.  Still  I  was  made 
to  do  menial  services  and  used  as  a  slave  ;  and  it  might 
have  been  that  my  life  was  preserved  for  this  ;  for  save 
myself  the  party  had  no  servant.  Oh,  how  it  made  my 
blood  boil  at  times,  when  I  thought  what  I  had  been,  and 
what  I  was  !  and  how  I  groaned  in  secret,  to  think  what 
must  be  your  feelings,  and  the  feelings  of  my  friends, 
should  the  latter  ever  hear  of  my  fate  !  But  I  still  had 
hope  ;  I  was  still  alive ;  and  I  struggled  to  bear  up  man- 
fully, and  be  resigned  to  my  lot  till  Providence  should 
favor  my  escape. 

"The  first  hundred  miles  I  was  forced  to  proceed  on 
foot — the  robbers  having  no  horses  but  what  they  rode 
themselves.  Sometimes  they  traveled  fast,  obliging  me 
to  keep  them  company,  and  in  consequence  I  suffered 
most  severely.  At  last  one  of  the  band  got  killed  in  an 
affray,  and  his  beast  was  assigned  to  me,  which  proved  a 
great  relief. 

One  day  the  chief  informed  me  that  if  I  would  take 


THE    JOYFUL  MEETING. 


the  oath  of  his  dictation,  I  might  join  the  band  and  have 
my  freedom — or  rather,  the' freedom  of  a  robber.  I 
declined  his  offer,  in  language  so  decisive  that  he  never 
after  repeated  the  proposition,  and  I  continued  as  before 
a  slave.    But  I  must  avoid  detail. 

"  At  last  we  reached  the  Sierra  de  los  Mimbres,  where 
the  band  divided— the  chief  and  a  few  followers  taking 
me  down  to  San  Domingo,  where  I  was  offered  for  sale. 
Not  meeting  with  success  here,  he  continued  down 
through  the  several  villages,  and,  in  short,  to  the  very 
hacienda  whither  you  and  another  (God  bless  you  both  !) 
traced  me.  Had  he  failed  here  in  disposing  of  me  to 
Pedro  Lopez,  I  do  believe  he  would  have  put  an  end  to 
my  existence. 

"  After  much  quibbling,  the  barsfain  was  at  last 
struck,  and  I  became  the  property  of  Pedro  Lopez. 

I  shall  now  pass  over  the  period  of  my  slavery — the 
most  unhappy  one  of  my  life.  True,  I  was  treated  better 
than  my  companions,  and,  on  the  whole,  suffered  much 
less  physically  than  mentally.  But  still  I  knew  myself  a 
slave— knew  I  was  degraded;  and  the  thought  of  my 
position— that  thus  I  might  be  doomed  to  spend  my  days 
—nearly  drove  me  mad.  Sometimes  evil  thoughts  would 
enter  my  head  ;  and  then  I  would  half  resolve  to  kill  my 
master  and  take  the  consequences,  or  put  an  end  to  my 
own  being.  Then  hope  would  revive,  that  something 
might  turn  up  for  my  deliverance,  and  I  would  labor  on, 
and  strive  to  be  resigned  to  bide  my  time. 

"  Thus  a  year  rolled  around,  when  one  day  Pedro 
Lopez  came  to  me  and  inquired  if  I  was  contented  with 
my  situation  !  At  first  I  thought  he  was  mocking  me, 
and  I  half-raised  a  garden-tool  I  had  in  my  hand  to  dash 
out  his  brains.  He  must  have  guessed  my  intention 
from  my  looks  ;  for  he  took  a  step  back,  and  bade  me  be 
calm  and  give  him  a  civil  answer.  I  replied  by  inquiring 
if  he  would  feel  contented  to  be  a  slave  in  a  foreign 
land  ?  He  shook  his  head,  and  said  he  would  not — that 
he  had  felt  for  my  situation  from  the  first— and  that  that 
was  the  cause  of  my  being  treated  better  than  my  com- 
panions. He  then  told  me  that  as  L  had  ever  behaved 
myself  with  propriety,  and  as  he  had  been  offered  a  fair 


I20 


THE    JOYFUL  MEETING. 


ransom  by  a  small  tribe  of  Indians,  if  I  felt  disposed  to 
witli  them  he  would  give  up  all  claim  to  me.  A 
thoucrhl  flashed  upon  me,  that  possibly  this  might  be  the 
tribe'^of  Great  Medicine,  and  I  begged  to  see  them.  My 
request  was  granted,  and  the  first  glance  showed  me  1 
was  ri^ht  in  my  conjectures;  and,  uttering  a  joyful  cry, 
I  rushed  outside  of  the  gate,  to  where  they  were  assem- 
bled before  the  walls  of  the  hacienda. 

"  Frank,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  describe  my  feel- 
ino-s  then.  Life,  liberty,  everything  joyous,  seemed 
bu'rsting  upon  me  at  once,  and  my  brain  grew  dizzy 
with  the  exhilarating,  intoxicating  thoughts.  I  hugged 
the  first  Indian  I  met  ;  I  danced,  capered  around,  shouted, 
laughed,  cried— in  short,  did  everything  extravagant  to 
give  my  overpowering  feelings  vent.  For  an  hour  or 
two  I  was  insane  with  joy,  and  my  reasoning  powers  as 
bewildered  as  those  of  a  lunatic. 

"  At  last  I  began  to  grow  calm  ;  and  tuen  I  went 
around  to  each  of  my  old  friends  and  shook  them  by  the 
hand,  thanked  them  with  tearful  eyes  and  trembling 
voice  for  my  deliverance,  and  received  their  congratula- 
tions and  caresses  in  return.  t  i.  j 

"  But  where  was  Prairie  Flower?  As  yet  I  had  not 
seen  her.  I  made  the  inquiry,  but  could  get  no  direct 
answer.  Some  shook  their  heads,  others  said  she  was 
not  here,  and  others  again  that  she  was  away.  Finding 
none  would  answer  me,  I  concluded  they  had  a  sufficient 
reason  for  their  evasion  and  dropped  the  subject. 

"When  everything  had  been  satisfactorily  arranged, 
and  I  had  become  reasonably  sobered  down,  we  all  set  off 
toward  the  north.  A  horse  had  been  provided  for  me, 
and  all  were  mounted— the  females,  of  whom  there  were 
several,  mostly  on  mules. 

"Some  three  miles  from  the  hacienda  we  reached  a 
heavy  wood.  Entering  this  about  a  mile,  we  made  a  halt 
by  a  spring.  While  watering  the  animals,  I  heard  a  dis- 
tant rustling  of  the  bushes  and  the  tramp  of  more  horses. 
Presently  an  airy  figure,  gaily  attired,  and  mounted  on  a 
coal  black  Indian  pony,  burst  through  a  dense  copse 
near  me,  followed  by  five  dusky  maidens,  and  rode 
swiftly-up  to  where  I  was  standing  by.  my  steed. 


THE    JOYFUL  MEETING, 


21 


« 'Prairie  Flower!'  I  exclaimed;  and  the  next  mo- 
ment she  was  on  her  feet  and  her  hand  clasped  in  mine 

''  Oh  the  emotions  of  that  moment  1  Time  seemed  to 
have  turned  his  wheel  backward,  and  years  t^ij 
o-i-ief  and  fati^rue  were  forgotten.  Passions,  which  had 
slumbered,  or  been  half-obliterated  by  other  events,  were 
ao-ain  awakened  and  brought  forth  from  their  secret  re- 
cesses ;  and  I  saw  her  as  I  had  seen  her  three  years  be- 
fore, and  felt  ail  I  had  then  felt,  but  in  a  two  fold 

sense.  ,        ,  j-     i  , 

"  As  for  Prairie  Flower,  she  was  pale  and  exceedingly 
ajritated.  She  grasped  my  hand  nervously,  gave  one 
searching  glance  at  my  features,  and  burst  into  tears— 
but  did  not  speak.  Then  she  sprung  away  from  me  a  few 
paces,  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  returning  with 
a  bound,  asked  me  a  dozen  questions  in  a  breath  :  tiow 
I  had  been  ?  where  I  had  been  ?  if  I  were  well  ?  if  1  were 
o-lad  to  get  my  liberty  ?'  and  so  on  ;  and  wound  up  by 
adding  that  she  was  rejoiced  to  see  me,  and  hoped  1 
should  be  more  fortunate  hereafter. 

''  Throughout  our  first  brief  interview,  her  manner 
was  wild  and  her  language  almost  incoherent— which 
so  different  from  anything  I  had  seen,  surprised  and 
alarmed  me.  She  would  ask  a  question  ;  and  then, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  ask  another  and  another, 
or  make  some  remark  altogether  irrelevant.  At  last 
with  a  hope  that  I  would  now  be  happy,  she  informed 
me  that  she  could  see  me  no  more  that  day ;  and  before 
I  had  time,  to  reply,  she  had  darted  away,  sprung  into  her 
saddle  and  was  off— followed  by  all  the  females  of  the 
tribe  and  some  half  a  dozen  of  the  other  sex. 

"  This  proceeding  perplexed  me  not  a  little.  I  asked 
several  the  meaning  of  it  ;  but  they  only  shook  their 
heads,  and  I  was  left  to  ponder  it  in  secret. 

"  We  pursued  our  way  slowly  toward  the  north  ;  and 
I  saw  nothing  of  Prairie  Flower,  nor  of  those  who  had 
accompanied  her,  till  about  noon  of  the  succeeding  day, 
when  she  again  joined  us,  with  the  rest  of  the  tribe, 
among  whom  were  some  women  and  children  I  haa  not 
before  seen,  which  led  me  to  infer  there  had  been  tv  j 


122 


THE   JOYFUL  MEETING, 


camps,  and  this  supposition  was  subsequently  confirmed 
by  Prairie  Flower  herself. 

My  second  meeting  with  Prairie  Flower  was  very 
different  from  the  first.  She  was  calm,  constrained,  and 
I  fancied  cold  ;  though  somehow  I  was  led  to  think  this 
rather  forced  than  natural.  She  was  polite,  civil,  and 
agreeable  ;  but  all  that  passionate  enthusiasm  of  the  pre- 
ceding day  was  gone.  She  did  not  speak  with  freedom, 
and  her  words  seemed  studied,  and  her  sentences  regu- 
lated by  previous  thought.  In  fact,  she  seemed  to  have 
relapsed  into  the  same  state  as  when  we  first  were  guests 
of  herself  and  tribe.  There  was  either  something  very 
mysterious  about  this,  or  else  it  sprung  from  one  natural 
cause — and  my  vanity,  it  may  be,  led  me  to  infer  the 
latter.  If  she  loved  me,  her  actions  were  easily  accounted 
for  ;  if  she  did  not  care  for  me,  why  had  she  taken  sq 
much  pains,  as  her  own  lips  revealed,  to  search  me  out  ? 

"  In  the  course  of  the  conversation  Avhich  ensued,  she 
narrated  how  she  had  met  you — under  what  circum- 
stances— and  how,  urged  on  by  a  sense  of  duty,  she  had 
at  once  set  off  with  her  tribe  in  the  hope  of  learning 
something  more  of  my  fate.  Fortune  favored  her  ;  for 
while  on  her  way  south,  she  met  with  an  old  mountain- 
eer, who  gave  her  tidings  of  a  cheering  nature.  As  her 
adventures  have  been  so  much  like  your  own,  Frank,  I 
shall  not  enter  into  detail.  Enough  that  she  was  suc- 
cessful in  finding  me,  and  that  I  am  here. 

"Day  after  day,  as  we  traveled  north,  I  had  more  or 
less  interviews  with  Prairie  Flower ;  but  though  she 
ever  treated  me  with  respect  and  politeness,  she  always 
studied  to  avoid  familiarity. 

At  last  we  reached  the  present  spot,  where  the  tribe 
have  encamped  for  a  few  weeks,  or  until  the  fishers  and 
hunters  shall  have  laid  in  a  supply  of  provisions,  when 
they  intend  proceeding  further  north.  From  Prairie 
Flower  having  seen  you  where  she  did,  I  inferred  you  had 
gone  home,  and  every  day  have  been  intending  to  follow. 
But  somehow,  when  the  time  has  come  to  start,  I  have 
again  put  it  off  for  another  twenty-four  hours  ;  and  thus 
have  been  delaying,  day  after  day,  for  what  purpose  I 
hardly  know  myself.    I  believe  I  have  been  held  here  by 


THE   JOYFUL  MEETING, 


123 


some  charm  too  powerful  to  break,  and  now  that  you 
have  come  I  am  glad  of  it." 

"  And  that  charm,"  said  I,  as  my  friend  concluded 
with  a  sigh,  "  is  Prairie  Flower." 

"It  may  be,"  he  answered,  musingly.  "She  is  so 
strange — I  do  not  know  what  to  make  of  her.  She  is 
not  an  Indian— I  feel  certain  of  that  ;  but  as  to  who  she 
is  I  am  as  unenlightened  as  ever.  Do  you  really  think 
she  loves  me,  Frank  ?"  he  asked  suddenly,  rousing  him- 
self and  fastening  his  eyes  earnestly  upon  mine. 

"  How  can  I  answer  ?"  I  said,  evasively.  "  But  I  know 
of  one  that  does,  Charles." 

"You  mean  the  Unknown— or  rather,  Eva  Mor- 
timer ?"  he  rejoined,  musingly. 

"  I  do.  I  have  already  delivered  her  message,  suffi- 
cient to  assure  you  of  the  fact ;  and  she  is  certainly  one 
worthy  of  being  loved." 

"  It  may  be,"  he  sighed,  "  and  there  was2i  time,  Frank, 
when  such  intelligence  would  have  made  me  happy. 
But  now— (he  paused,  shook  his  head,  and  mused  a 
moment)— now  it  is  not  so.  When  I  first  saw  Eva,  I 
had  never  seen  Prairie  Flower;  and  ere  the  germ  of  a 
first  passion  had  been  brought  to  maturity,  the  tree  was 
transplanted  to  another  soil,  and  the  sun  of  another  clime, 
although  it  did  not  change  its  nature,  ripened  it  in 
another  light.  Or,  to  drop  all  metaphor,"  he  added, 
"Eva  was  the  first  to  arouse  in  me  a  latent  passion, 
which  doubtless  a  proper  intercourse  would  have  warmed 
to  a  mutual  attachment  ;  but  ere  this  was  consummated 
— ere  I  even  knew  who  she  was — without  a  hope  of  ever 
seeing  her  again— I  departed,  and  have  never  beheld  her 
since.  She  touched  some  secret  chord  in  my  breast,  and 
I  dwelt  on  her  memory  for  a  time,  and  loved  her  as  an 
unapproachable  ideal  rather  than  as  an  approachable 
substance.  I  loved  her,  or  fancied  I  did,  rather  that  I 
had  nothing  else  on  which  to  place  my  affections,  than 
for  any  substantial  cause.  In  another  I  afterward  found 
a  resemblance  which  arrested  my  attention  and  changed 
the  current  of  my  thoughts.  The  singular  manner  in 
which  we  were  thrown  together  ;  our  daily  interviews  ; 
my  gratitude  to  her  as  the  preserver  of  my  life  and 


124 


A    STRANGE  SURMISE. 


yours  ;  her  generosity  ;  in  short,  the  concentration  in 
her  of  every  noble  quality  and  the  absence  of  all  others, 
gradually  drew  me  to  Prairie  Flower  ;  and  ere  I  was 
aware  of  it  myself,  I  found  her  presence  necessary  to  my 
happiness.  At  last  we  parted,  as  you  know  how,  and  I 
strove  to  forget  her  ;  but,  Frank,  though  I  mentioned 
her  not  to  you,  I  now  tell  you  that  I  strove  a  long  time 
in  vain.  By  day  and  by  night,  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  did  she  occupy  my  thoughts  ;  and  it  was  only 
when  misfortunes  fell  upon  me  that  her  image  gradually 
gave  place  to  more  trying  thoughts.  But  our  second 
meeting— an  additional  debt  of  gratitude  for  deliverance 
from  slavery— has  done  the  work  ;  and  I  now  feel  I  can 
love  none  but  Prairie  Flower." 

"Then  you  are  really  in  love,  Charles  ?" 

"I  am  ;  and  I  fear  hopelessly  so." 

"I  fear  so  too,"  sighed  I.  "But  where  is  Prairie 
Flower?    I  must  see  and  thank  her  from  my  heart." 

As  I  spoke,  the  subject  of  our  conversation  glided 
into  the  rude  lod^je  and  stood  before  me. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


A  STRANGE  SURMISE. 

RAIRIE  FLOWER  !  my  dearest  friend  !"  I 
exclaimed,  springing  to  my  feet  and  clasping 
her   extended   hands    in   both   of   mine  : 
"  Prairie  Flower,  this  is  a  happy  meeting- 
most  happy  1" 
"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Leighton,"  she  said, 
with  something  like  a  sigh  ;  "  very,  very  glad     ^^nd  she 
closed  in  a  tremulous  tone,  while  her  dark  eyes  filled  witti 

tears.  ,  j  r  4. 

Oh,  how  beautiful  she  looked,  as  we  stood  tace  to 
face,  her  hands  clasped  in  mine  !  Never  had  she  appeared 


A    STRANGE  SURMISE. 


more 


lovely    Since  our  first  meeting,  time  had  ripened 
her  to  full  maturity  ;  and  though  her  sweet  countenance 
was  pale  and  sad,  and  though  something  hke  care  and 
thought  could  be  traced  thereon,  yet  it  ^yas  so  mellowed 
so  blended  with  something  lofty  and  noble,  that  U  added 
a  peculiar  charm  to  her  appearance  ^vh.ch  mere  physical 
beauty  could  not  sustain.    It  was  a  something  that,  while 
you  admired,  awakened  your  sympathy  and  drew  you  to 
her,  as  toward  one  you  felt  it  your  duty  and  delight 
to  soothe,  cherish,  and  protect     As  I  gazed  upon  her 
a  moment  in  silence,  I  became  forcibly  struck  with  the 
resemblance  she  bore  to  Eva  Mortimer.  She  was  a  shade 
darker,  perhaps  ;  but  this  might  be  owing  to  her  life  in 
the  mountains,  and  constant  exposure  to  the  free,  brae 
nt  air.   Ther^  was  the  same  mold  of  feature,  and,  in  het 
no°w  sad  and  thoughtful  expression,  a  marked  resem- 
blance to  that  I  had  seen  on  the  countenance  of  Lva  as 
she  bade  me  farewell.    A  sudden  thought  sent  a  hot 
flush  over  me,  and  involuntarily  I  took  a  step  backward 
and  scrutinized  her  again.    Good  heavens!  could  it  be 
possible?    No!  no!  it  was  too  visionary.      And  yet 
Thy  too  visionary?"  I  said,  half  aloud.     As  strange 
things  had  happened.    Eva  had  a  sister-a  twin  sister-- 
who  was  lost  al  an  infantile  age-who  had  been  stolen 
away.    There  was  no  existing  proof-or  at  least  none  to 
my  knowledge-that  that  sister  was  aead  :  no  one  knew 
what  had  become  of  her.    Here  was  a  being  of  her  own 
age  apparently,  and  of  a  marked  resemblance.    Her  his- 
tory khe  would  never  touch  upon-perhaps  did  not 
know     Might  Prairie  Flower  not  be  that  twin  sister? 
The  thought,  the  suspicion,  was  wild  and  romantic-but 
what  argument  was  there  against  it?     The  ways  of 
Providence  are  strange,  but  not  in  all  cases  past  finding 

It  must  be  so  !"  I  ejaculated,  completely  absorbed 
with    my    speculations,   and  forgetful  of  everything 

around  me.  .   ,     ,        •        r  i  4.u 

I  was  aroused  from  my  reverie  by  the  voices  of  botti 

mv  friend  and  Prairie  Flower.  . 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Frank  ?"  cried  Huntly,  grasping 
my  arm,  shaking  me,  and  gazing  upon  me  with  a  look  ot 


126 


A    STRANGE  SURMISE, 


alarm.  Speak  to  me!  speak!  that  I  may  know  you 
have  your  reason  !" 

"Are  you  ill,  sir ?"  joined  in  Prairie  Flower,  with  a 
startled  look.  "  I  fear  you  are  ill  !  Fatigue  has  over- 
come him,"  she  added  to  Huntly.  "  Better  get  him  to 
lie  down  on  the  mat,  while  I  run  for  assistance." 

"Stay  !  stay!"  I  exclaimed,  as  she  turned  to  depart. 

am  not  ill.  I  was  only — I  beg  your  pardon — did  I 
act  strangely  ?" 

"  As  I  never  saw  you  before,"  replied  Huntly.  "  You 
stared  wildly  at  Prairie  Flower,  and  spoke  incoherently. 
Tell  me  !  are  you  in  your  senses  !" 

"Most  certainly  I  am.    I  was  only  thinking  of-— 

"Of  what,  pray  ?" 

"  Prairie  Flower,  speak  !"  I  exclaimed,  addressing  her, 
as  she  stood  near  the  entrance,  uncertain  whether  to  depart 
or  not :  "  Speak  !  what  do  you  know  of  your  history  ?" 

"My  history?*'  she  repeated  in  surprise.  "Have  I 
not  forbidden  you  " 

"  Never  mind  now  !  I  have  important  reasons  for 
asking." 

She  colored  to  the  eyes,  and  seemed  greatly  em- 
barrassed. 

"  What  reasons  can  you  have,"  she  rejoined,  "  for  ask- 
ing this,  in  this  wild  manner  ?  You  surprise  and  alarm 
me!" 

"  A  resemblance,"  I  replied,  "  a  strong  resemblance 
you  bear  to  another.  Fear  not  to  tell  me  and  my  friend 
what  you  know  ;  and  we  promise,  if  necessary,  to  keep 
your  secret  inviolate." 

"Ay,  do.  Prairie  Flower  !"  urged  Huntly,  vehemently, 
who  now  comprehended  the  whole  matter.  "Speak, 
dear  Prairie  Flower,  without  reserve !  Speak,  I  pray 
you  !  for  much  depends  upon  your  answer." 

"  Are  you  both  mad  ?"  she  said,  looking  from  one  to 
the  other,  as  if  doubting  our  sanity. 

"No  !  no  !"  I  returned  ;  "we  are  not  mad,  but  in  our 
sober  senses.  A  weighty  reason,  which  my  friend  did 
not  at  first,  but  now  understands,  and  all  important  to 
you  as  well  as  ourselves  and  others,  induces  the  inquiry. 


A    STRANGE  SURMISE. 


127 


Come,  sweet  Prairie  Flower  !  will  you  not  grant  our  re- 
quest?" 

She  hung  down  her  head,  tapped  the  earth  with  her 
foot,  and  seemed  confused  and  agitated.  I  approached 
and  gently  took  her  hand,  and  again  in  a  soothing  voice 
entreated  her  to  tell  us  all  she  knew— reiterating  my 
promise,  that,  if  necessary,  it  should  never  pass  to  other 
ears. 

Say,  sweet  being  !  are  you  not  of  our  race  ?— are 
you  not  a  pale-face  ?" 

For  some  time  she  did  not  reply,  during  which  she 
seemed  struggling  to  master  her  emotions.  At  len^rth  a 
half  inaudible,  "  I  am,"  escaped  her  lips.  ° 

"I  thought  so— I  could  almost  have  sworn  it  !"  I  re- 
turned, triumphantly.  "And  your  parents,  Prairie 
Flogiver  ?" 

,  She  burst  into  tears,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
"Nay,  sweet  Prairie  Flower,  be  calm  !"  I  added.  "Do 
not  let  this  affect  you  so  seriously.  I  do  not  seek  to 
pry  into  your  private  affairs,  only  so  far  as  I  fancy  the 
knowledge  imparted  may  benefit  yourself.  Tell  me— 
did  you  or  do  you  know  your  parents  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  sobbed  aloud. 

"Believe  me,  gentle  maiden,  nothing  is  further  from 
my  design  than  to  wound  your  feelings  or  recall  painful 
associations.  Do  you  know  how  you  came  among;  the 
Indians  ?"  ^ 

"  Something  I  know,"  she  answered. 

"  Will  you  tell  us  what  you  know  r 

"  As  you  seem  so  anxious,"  she  said,  making  an  elTort 
to  dry  her  tears,  "  I  will,  on  condition  I  gain  the  consent 
of  Cha-cha-chee-kee-ho-bah." 

"  And  what  has  he  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  I  have  promised  to  reveal  nothing  without  his  con- 
sent. And  now  I  t'  mk  of  it,"  she  quickly  added,  "per- 
haps I  have  done  wrong  in  saying  what  I  have." 

"Give  yourself  no  uneasiness.  Prairie  Flower,  for 
even  he  could  attach  no  blame  to  what  you  have  said. 
But  how  came  you  to  promise  him  this  ?" 

"  He  exacted  it  of  me  as  my  guardian." 

"  Indeed  !    Then  he  must  know  your  history 


28 


A    STRANGE  SURMISE. 


*  He  knows  more  of  it  than  I  do." 
*Then  I  must  see  him  at  once.    Pray,  conduct  me  to 
him  !" 

"Nay,  sir,"  she  answered,  "it  were  useless.  He  would 
tell  you  nothing.  He  is  old,  and  singular,  and  would 
look  upon  you  as  an  intruder.  I  will  see  him,  and  see 
what  can  be. done.  He  loves  me,  and  I  have  more  in- 
fluence over  him  than  any  other  of  the  tribe.  ^  If  he 
refuses  to  tell  me,  no  earthly  power  can  open  his  lips, 
and  the  secret  will  go  down  to  the  grave  with  him.  But 
now  let  me  hear  something  of  yourself,  and  how  we  all 
came  to  meet  again  in  a  manner  so  singular." 

"One  question  more.  Prairie  Flower  !" 

"  Nay,  no  more.  I  will  answer  nothing  further  till  I 
have  consulted  the  Old-Man-of-the-Mountains." 

"  Be  it  so,  then,"  I  answered  ;  and  the  conversation 
changed  to  matters  connected  with  my  present  ad- 
venture. 

We  were  still  engaged  in  recalling  past  events,  when 
an  Indian  maiden  hurriedly  entered  the  lodge,  and  said 
something  in  her  own  language  to  Prairie  Flower. 

"Indeed  !"  she  exclaimed,  starting  and turning  deadly 
pale.  "  Gentlemen,  excuse  me  !"  and  she  hastened  from 
the  cot. 

"  What  can  be  the  meaning  of  this  ?   said  Huntly. 

"  Some  startling  news,  I  judge.  Perhaps  some  one  has 
been  taken  ill  and  sent  for  her." 

"And  so,  Frank,"  returned  Huntly  the  next  moment, 
"you  really  think  Prairie  Flower  and  Eva  sisters?" 

"  There  is  so  strong  a  resemblance,  my  friend,  that, 
until  I  have  proof  to  the  contrary,  I  can  hardly  believe 
otherwise." 

"  Strange  !"  he  rejoined,  musingly  :  "  Strange  !  very 
strange  !  ^Yet  since  you  have  told  me  something  of  the 
history  of  the  Mortimers,  I  must  say  the  matter  looks 
possible,  not  to  say  probable." 

"  At  all  events,"  I  returned,  "there  is  mystery  some- 
where, and  I  shall  not  rest  till  it  be  sifted  to  the  bottom. 
I  hope  she  may  prevail  upon  the  old  man  to  allow  her 
to  tell  what  she  knows,  even  if  he  add  nothing  him- 
self." 


A    STRANGE  SURMISE, 


129 


"  And  should  it  turn  out  as  we  suspect,  Frank  !" 
said  Huntly,  with  great  energy,  grasping  my  arm  as  he 
spoke. 

« Well  r 

You  know  I — that  is  " 

**  I  understand.    You  would  have  her  the  closest  of 
kin— eh  !  Charles  ?" 

"Say  no  more.  I  see  you  understand  me.  But  • 
then,  I  " 

"  Well,  say  on." 

"  I — that  is — you— perhaps  she — she  does  not  fancy 
me?" 

"  What  !  do  you  doubt  ?" 

**  Why,  no — yes — I — I  cannot  say  I  doubt — but — but 
she  is  so  strange,  Frank  !  I  would  give  the  world  to 
have  her  talk  to  me  with  the  freedom  she  does  to  you." 

"  And  if  you  really  love  her,  Charles,  you  should  give 
the  world  to  have  everything  exactly  the  reverse  ;  in  other 
words,  exactly  as  it  is." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  simply,  that  she  does  not  love  me." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this,  Frank  ?"  and  Huntly  fastened 
his  eyes  intently  upon  mine,  as  if  to  read  my  soul. 

"  As  sure  as  that  the  sun  shines  at  noon-day." 

"  And  you  think  she — she  " 

"  Loves  another." 

Huntly  turned  deadly  pale. 

"  Name  him,  Frank  ?"  he  gasped. 

"Charles  Huntly." 

"Indeed!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  rapid  change  of 
countenance.    "You  think  this?" 
"  1  know  it." 

He  took  a  step  backward  and  looked  at  me  hard  for  a 
moment — during  which  his  color  came  and  went  rapidly, 
and  his  breathing  became  audible — and  then  he  said,  im- 
pressively : 

"  Frank,  do  not  jest  with  me  !  To  me  this  matter  is 
of  the  gravest  importance." 

"I  do  not  jest,  Charles;  I  know  your  feelings,  and 
you  may  rest  assured  I  would  be  the  last  to  jest  with 

them." 

8 


A    STRANGE  SURxMISE, 


*'  And  you  say  she  loves  me  ?" 
I  do." 

He  grasped  my  hand,  the  tears  sprung  into  his  eyes, 
and  his  voice  trembled  as  he  rejoined  : 

"  Frank,  I  thank  you  for  these  words  !  I  am  suffering 
under  deep  affliction — my  life  is  clouded — but,  if  this  be 
true,  there  is  still  su  ishine — still  an  oasis  in  the  desert — 
still  something  to  look  forward  to." 

"  My  words  are  true,  my  friend,  if  that  is  any  con- 
solation." 

"  And  how  have  you  discovered  this  so  suddenly  ?" 
"I  have  not.    I  have  known  it  all  along." 
"Indeed  !  you  never  told  me  so  before." 
"True,  and  for  good  reasons." 
"What  reasons,  I  pray?" 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  encourage  an  attachment  which 
may  even  yet  prove  hopeless." 
"  What  mean  you  ?" 

"As  I  told  you  once  before:  Prairie  Flower  may 
love — nay,  does  love,  mark  that  ! — but  may  never  marry 
— nay,  may  even  reject  the  suit  of  him  she  idolizes." 

"  For  what  cause  ?" 

"That  she  is  already  wedded  to  her  tribe." 

"But  should  she  prove  to  be  what  we  suspect  ?" 

"  That  w^jj/al^er  the  case  with  her ;  and  on  the  strength 
of  that  supposition,  and  that  you  have  been  so  myste- 
riously brought  together,  and  that  I  find  your  affections 
so  firmly  placed  upon  ter,  have  I  ventured  to  tell  you 
what  I  have  long  known.  But  remember,  Charles,  I 
warn  you  not  to  be  too  sanguine  in  your  expectations  !" 

"Well,"  answered  my  friend,  "I  will  hope  for  the 
'  best.    It  is  all  very  singular !"  he  added,  relapsing  into  a 
musing  mood. 

"  I  suppose  we  had  better  not  start  for  Oregon  to- 
day?" said  I,  playfully. 

"  No,  not  to-day  !"  he  replied  ;  "  not  to-day  !  To-mor- 
row, perhaps." 

"  Or  peradventure  the  day  following  !" 
,  "Ay,  peradventure." 

At  this  moment  Teddy,  Pierre  and  Black  Geo-ge 


DEATH   OF   GREAT  MEDICINE.  131 


appeared  at  the  door  to  pay  their  respects  to  my  friend, 
and  I  quitted  the  lodge,  bidding  them  pass  in. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ILLNESS  AND  DEATH  OF  GREAT  MEDICINE. 

l/^A(r\  11^         ^  exchanged  a  word  with  any 

of  the  tribe  but  Prairie  Flower  ;  and  as  I  left 
^^^^^^^  I  the  cot,  I  turned  toward  a  crowd,  which  was 
L^^^fiL.'  huddled  together  near  the  center  of  the  tem- 
'  porary  village,  their  eyes  all  fixed  in  a  certain 

direction.  I  knew  by  this,  and  the  abrupt  departure  of 
Prairie  Flower,  that  something  unusual  had  occurred  ; 
and  hastening  forward,  I  soon  reached  them,  and,  to  my 
surprise,  found  most  of  them  in  tears,  and  the  others 
looking  very  solemn. 

**What  has  happened,  my  friends?"  inquired  I. 

On  hearing  my  voice,  those  nearest  to  me  turned 
round  and  extended  their  hands  in  silence.  They  then 
separated,  so  as  to  allow  me  a  passage  through  ;  and,  as  I 
moved  along,  I  .shook  a  hand  of  each  on  either  side. 
They  appeared  glad  to  see  me,  but,  at  the  same  time,  very 
sad,  from  some  untoward  circumstance,  of  which  I  felt 
anxious  to  be  informed. 

When  I  had  concluded,  I  turned  to  an  intelligent 
'  youth,  and  inquired  the  cause  of  each  and  all  looking  so 
serious. 

He  silently  pointed  his  finger  to  the  center  lodge, 
and,  after  a  solemn  pause,  uttered  : 
"  Great  Medicine." 
"Sick?" 

He  nodded  his  head. 

This,  then,  accounted  for  the  agitation  of  Prairie 
Flower  ;  and  after  what  had  passed  between  us  regarding 
her  history,  it  may  readily  be  inferred  I  felt  no  little 


132       DEATH   OF   GREAT  MEDICINE. 


anxiety  to  ascertain  to  what  extent  the  old  man  was 
indisposed,  and  whether  his  case  was  considered  imme- 
diately dangerous.  He  was  very  old,  I  knew,  and  in  all 
probability  would  not  long  survive.  Should  he  die 
witliout  revealing  to  Prairie  Flower  her  history,  all  de- 
pendence of  proof  from  her  would  be  cut  off,  and  it  would 
doubtless  be  a  very  difficult,  if  not  an  impossible, 
endeavor,  to  identify  her  with  the  lost  daughter  of 
Madame  Mortimer.  On  this  account,  as  well  as  for  old 
acquaintance  sake,  I  was  very  anxious  to  enter  the  lodge 
— at  the  door  of  which  were  standing  several  females, 
weeping.  I  made  a  step  forward  for  this  purpose,  when 
an  Indian  touched  me  on  the  shoulder  and  shook  his 
head,  as  a  sign  that  I  must  go  no  nearer. 

"  I  have  most  important  business  w4th  the  sick  man," 
I  said.    ''Can  I  not  be  permitted  to  see  him  ?'* 

He  again  shook  his  head, 

"  But  this  matter  is  urgent !" 

"  No  one  must  see  him,"  he  answered,  "  but  such  as  he 
desires  to  see." 

"  Then  let  me  see  Prairie  Flower." 

"  She  must  not  now  be  called.  We  wait  her  appear- 
ance." 

"  Will  she  soon  be  here  ?" 
"I  cannot  say." 

There  was  nothing  to  do,  therefore,  but  to  wait  as  pa- 
tiently as  I  could.  What  troubled  me  the  most,  was  the 
fear  that  the  old  man  might  die  suddenly,  and  Prairie 
Flower,  in  her  agitation,  neglect  to  question  him  till  too 
late. 

For  an  hour  I  paced  to  and  fro,  in  a  very  uneasy 
mood,  revolving  these  things  in  my  mind,  when  Prairie 
Flower  made  her  appearance  outside  of  the  lodge,  where 
she  was  instantly  surrounded  by  those  nearest  in  v/aiting, 
all  eager  for  her  intelligence. 

Having  spoken  a  few  words  with  her,  they  all  moved 
slowly  away,  with  sorrowful  looks,  and  Prairie  Flower 
approached  to  where  I  was  standing. 

The  Indians,  though  as  anxious  as  myself  to  gain  her 
tidings,  moved  not  from  their  places,  but  waited  m  re- 
spectful silence  for  her  to  open  the  conversation. 


DEATH  OF   GREAT  MEDICINE,  '33 


I,  however,  not  being  bred  in  the  same  school  with 
them,  could  not  exercise  the  same  patience  ;  and,  taking 
a  few  steps  forward,  I  said  : 

"Great  Medicine  is  ill,  Prairie  Flower?" 

"  He  is,"  she  answered,  in  a  tremulous  voice. 
Very  ill  ?  dangerously  ill  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  fear  he  is." 

The  Indians  behind  me,  on  hearing  this,  uttered  sev- 
eral deep  groans,  but  said  not  a  word. 

"  Can  he  survive.  Prairie  Flower  ?" 

"  I  think  not,"  she  answered,  mournfully  shaking  her 
head. 

"Any  particular  disease?" 

"  Old  age  and  debility.  He  is  very  old,  and  has  not 
been  well  for  some  time.  A  few  minutes  before  I  was 
called,  he  was  taken  very  ill.  I  fear  his  time  to  go  is  at 
hand.  Friends,"  she  added,  addressing  her  tribe,  "  you 
are  about  to  lose  one  you  love  and  reverence.  Let  us 
commend  his  soul  to  the  Great  Spirit ;"  and  thereupon 
each  and  all  kneeled  upon  the  earth  in  prayer. 

When  this  was  over,  I  turned  to  Prairie  Flower 
again. 

"Pardon  me,  fair  being,"  I  said,  "at  this  solemn 
time,  for  intruding  worldly  thoughts  upon  your  atten- 
tion !  But  the  Old-man-of-the-Mountains  is  about  to 
depart,  in  all  probability,  to  join  his  fathers  and  friends 
in  another  state.  You  think  he  holds  the  key  to  your 
history.  If  you  have  not  already^  would  it  not  be  well 
for  you  to  bid  him  unlock  the  memories  of  the  past,  so 
far  as  relates  to  yourself  ?" 

"  True,"  she  answered,  with  a  start  ;  "  I  had  forgotten 
that.  I  fear  it  is  too  late  ;  for  already  his  voice  falters, 
and  he  seems  standing  midway  between  time  and  eter- 
nity, and  slowly  receding  toward  the  invisible  land  of 
spirits." 

"  Fly  !"  I  urged  :  "  fly.  Prairie  Flower  !  and  do  your 
best,  ere  all  is  over  !" 

"  I  will,"  she  said  ;  and  at  once  hastened  back  to  the 
lodge. 

For  another  hour  I  paced  to  and  fro  impatiently,  ever 


134 


DEATH   OF   GREAT  MEDICINE. 


and  anon  turning  my  eyes  upon  the  hut  where  the  old 
man  was  breathing  his  last. 

At  length  Prairie  Flower  reappeared,  and,  with  her, 
three  Indian  maidens,  all  weeping  and  seeming  very 
much  dejected. 

On  leaving  the  lodge,  each  went  separate  ways 
through  the  village,  Prairie  Flower  approaching  me 
direct. 

*'  To  prayer  !"  she  said,  addressing  her  friends,  who 
still  remained  as  she  had  left  them. 

All  again  kneeled  as  before.  When  they  rose  to  their 
feet,  I  addressed  her : 

"  What  news,  Prairie  Flower  ?" 

"He  is  sinking  very  fast,"  she  answered,  sadly. 

"  Did  you  gain  any  information  ?" 

"No!  I  addressed  him  on  the  subject,  but  he  only 
looked  at  me  vaguely,  and  did  not  seem  to  comprehend 
what  I  said." 

"  Alas  !  I  fear  it  is  too  late,  Prairie  Flower  !" 

"I  fear  so,"  she  rejoined.  "But  he  may  revive  a 
little  ;  and  if  he  do,  I  will  question  him  again." 

With  this  she  returned  to  the  lodge  of  the  dying  man, 
while  I  proceeded  to  join  my  friend,  and  inform  him  of 
what  had  occurred. 

I  found  Huntly  as  I  had  left  him,  in  company  with 
our  companions,  all  engaged  in  an  animated  conver= 
sation. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  I  entered,  "  what  news,  Frank  ? 
Something  has  happened,  I  know  by  your  sober  looks." 

I  proceeded  to  detail  what  had  transpired,  and  the 
fears  I  entertained. 

"  This  is  unfortunate,"  he  said,  when  I  had  done  ; 
"  most  unfortunate." 

The  sun  was  some  half  an  hour  above  the  hills,  when 
Prairie  Flower  again  joined  us  in  haste.  Pierre,  Teddy 
and  Black  George  had  left  some  time  before,  so  that  no 
one  was  in  the  cot  but  myself  and  friend,  and  we  were 
so  deeply  engaged  in  discussing  the  various  matters 
which  had  transpired,  as  not  to  be  aware  of  her  close 
proximity  till  she  spoke : 


DEATH   OF   GREAT  MEDICINE.  ns 


"Where  is  this  lady,"  she  asked,  "whom  I  re- 
semble ?" 

"  I  left  her  in  Oregon  City,"  I  replied. 
"That  is  far  away,"  she  rejoined,  musingly. 
"  But  what  success.  Prairie  Flower  ?" 
"  Better  than  I  expected." 
"Indeed  !    You  give  us  joy." 

"  As  I  observed  he  might  do,  when  I  quitted  you," 
she  answered,  "the  old  man  again  revived,  when  I 
immediately  put  the  question  as  to  what  he  knew  of  my 
history.  He  seemed  much  surprised,  and  inquired  my 
reasons  for  asking.  I  hurriedly  informed  him  of  your 
conjectures.  He  listened  attentively,  and  seemed  ill  at 
ease.  He  had  promised,  he  said  in  reply,  never  to  divulge, 
during  his  natural  life,  who  I  was,  nor  anything  connected 
with  my  earliest  years." 

"  Ha  !  then  he  knows  your  history  himself?" 

"  Nay,  do  not  interrupt  me." 

"  I  crave  your  pardon  !    Go  on." 

"  Yes,"  continued  Prairie  Flower,  "  he  said  he  knew 
much  concerning  me,  but  did  not  know  all ;  that  some- 
thing had  whispered  him  this  information  might  be 
valuable  to  me  at  some  future  time  ;  and  that  he  had 
recorded  it  on  a  roll  of  parchment,  which  he  had  pur- 
chased of  a  trader  for  the  purpose.  This  parchment,  he 
said,  was  concealed  under  a  stone,  in  a  certain  place, 
which  none  but  such  as  to  whom  he  might  reveal  the 
secret  would  ever  be  able  to  find.  He  further  said,  that 
if  in  truth  I  had  a  sister  and  mother  living,  I  had  better 
perhaps  seek  them  out ;  and,  should  they  recognize  and 
claim  me,  I  could  then  do  as  I  should  think  proper, 
either  cling  to  them  or  my  tribe  ;  that  although  I  had 
been  reared  for  the  most  part  among  Indians,  and  had 
adopted  their  habits  and  customs,  still  I  was  not  of  their 
race,  not  of  their  blood,  and  he  could  therefore  see 
nothing  unnatural  or  improper  in  my  desiring  to  form 
acquaintance  with  my  own  kin.  But,  he  added,  lest  I 
should  meet  with  disappointment — in  my  kin,  or  those  I 
supposed  to  be  such,  not  claiming  me  on  what  I  and  they 
might  know — he  thought  it  better  that  I  should  remain 
ignorant  of  myself  until  I  had  seen  thernjace  to  facej^ 


DEATH   OF    GREAT  MEDICINE. 


when,  should  all  turn  out  as  1  desired,  it  would  be  time 
enough  to  produce  proof  ;  and  that  if  I  would  promise 
to  go  in  quest  of  them  before  perusing,  or  allowing 
another  to  peruse,  the  parchment  in  question,  he  would 
make  its  locality  known." 

"  What  a  singular  request  !"  said  I. 

"  True,"  replied  Prairie  Flower  ;  "  but,  as  I  have  said 
before,  Great  Medicine  is  a  very  singular  being,  and  aa 
enigma  to  alL" 

"  And  did  you  agree  to  his  proposition  ?" 

"  I  did,  though  somewhat  reluctantly.  But  I  knew,  if 
I  did  not,  that  the  secret  would  die  with  him,  and  of  this 
I  could  not  bear  to  think." 

"  And  so  he  told  you  all  ?" 

"  He  did." 

"  And  where  is  the  parchment  concealed  ?" 

"Nay,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head,  "I  do  not 
know  as  I  am  at  liberty  to  tell." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Prairie  Flower !  I  certainly 
had  no  right  to  question.  But  you  will  accompany  us  to 
Oregon  City  ?" 

"  That  is  what  I  came  to  speak  about,"  she  replied, 
timidly.    *'  Yoil  really  think  your  conjectures  are  right?" 

"We  do,"  answered  Huntly.    "Everything  tends  to 
convince  us  so.    At  first,  what  was  only  a  vague  suspi- 
cion with  us,  has  since  grown  almost  to  a  certaint)- 
Come,  go  with  us,  sweet  Prairie  Flower  !    Say  you  will 
go,  and  I  shall  be  happy." 

Prairie  Flower  changed  color  as  Huntly  spoke,  and 
turned  aside  her  head. 

"  And  you  will  allow  me  a  few  companions  ?"  she 
timidly  inquired. 

"  As  many  as  you  please,"  returned  Huntly,  "  so  you 
will  consent  to  go." 

"  But  when  do  you  start?" 

"  We  will  wait  your  time." 

"  My  duty,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "  is  henceforth  by  the 
side  of  Cha-cha-chee-kee-ho-bah,  till  he  take  his  depart- 
ure to  the  land  of  eternal  rest— then  to  follow  his  re- 
,  mains  to  the  grave — which  done,  I  shall  soon  be  ready  to 


lEATII   OF   GREAT  MEDICINE. 


137 


join  you.  Adieu,  for  the  present!  I  must  return  to 
him  now." 

Saying  which,  she  quitted  the  lodge. 
At  last !"  said  Huntly,  turning  to  me  :  "  At  last, 
Frank,  I  have  hope  !    Let  us  forth  and  take  the  evening 
air — for  strange  thoughts  are  crowding  my  breast." 

Arm  in  arm  we  strolled  through  the  little  village, 
where  the  solemn  faces  of  all  we  met  bespoke  the  gloom 
of  mourning  for  one  universally  beloved,  and  took  our 
w^ay  down  to  the  little  streamlet,  which,  all  unconscious 
of  mortal  change,  ran  murmuring  on  as  it  had  done  per- 
chance for  ages.  All  nature  reposed  in  her  most  charm- 
ing beauty  of  quietude.  The  sun  was  just  beginning  to 
sink  behind  the  lofty  mountains  to  the  westward,  and 
the  last  flood-light  of  day  made  golden  the  tiny  waves 
of  the  water,  and  began  to  hasten  the  long  shadows, 
precursors  of  diurnal  night,  and  that  night  of  death 
which  knows  no  waking.  The  very  air  seemed  solemn, 
it  was  so  still.  Scarce  a  breath  moved,  and  the  leaflets 
hung  down  their  heads  as  if  in  torrow.  The  feathered 
warblers,  which  had  made  music  all  day,  were  winding 
up  their  tunes  wath  what  seemed  a  melancholy  cadence. 
A  few  night-watchers  had  just  begun  to  give  each  other 
calls  in  timid  tones,  as  if  half  afraid  their  voices  were 
trespassing  upon  a  scene  too  sacred.  It  was  just  calm 
enough,  and  mild  enough,  and  lovely  enough,  and 
solemn  enough,  to  awaken  meditative  thought ;  that 
thought  in  which  all  the  unutterable  poetry  of  our  nature 
becomes  infused  ;  when  the  outward  sense  bids  the  inner 
tongue  speak  to  us  in  language  which  the  enraptured 
soul  only  comprehends  ;  when  we  feel  a  melancholy 
happiness,  and  a  desire  to  steal  away  from  everything 
living,  and  in  solitude  commune  with  ourselves  and  our 
God  ;  when  the  natural  voice  jars  discordantly  with  the 
finer  and  more  elevated  tones  of  our  being,  proceeding 
from  the  spirit-harp,  touched  by  the  unseen  hand  of  the 
All-pervading  Deity  ;  when,  in  short,  we  feel  drawn  by 
an  unexplainable  sympathy  to  a  lonely  meditation  on 
things  high  and  holy,  beyond  the  matter-of-fact  events 
of  every-day  experience. 

Did  you  never  feel  thus,  reader  ?  Did  you  never  steal 


138       DEATH   OF   GREAT  MEDICINE. 


away  from  your  daily  cares,  your  business,  your  friends — 
from  everything  common  and  evanescent — to  hold  a 
quiet  communion  with  yo.ir  nobler  thoughts? — and  then 
trace  those  thoughts,  as  it  were,  to  their  primeval  source 
— the  eternal  fount  of  the  Great  All-Good  ?  And  are 
not  such  sweet  thoughts,  and  sweet  moments  of  happy 
rest,  in  a  life  more  or  less  filled  with  turmoil  and  pain  ? 
For  myself,  I  answer  yes ;  for  I  look  upon  them  as  fore- 
tastings  of  a  Slate  of  blissful  and  eternal  beatitude,  when 
the  changing  circumstances  of  this  life  shall  trouble  us  no 
more  forever. 

Thus  I  felt,  and  thus  my  friend,  on  the  present  occa- 
sion. Deep  thought  with  both  was  too  busy  for  words, 
and  we  gained  the  rivulet  in  silence.  Some  fifty  yards 
above  us  was  a  large,  flat  rock,  overhanging  the  gurgling 
waters.  Toward  this  Huntly  silently  pointed  ;  and  obey- 
ing the  gesture,  I  accompanied  him  thither.  Seated  at 
length  upon  it,  our  eyes  simultaneously  became  fixed 
upon  the  rapid  current  laving  its  base,  and  our  ears 
drank  in  its  music,  while  the  sunlight  gradually  departed 
from  the  stream,  the  deepening  shadows  of  night 
stretched  over  us,  growing  more  and  more  somber,  and 
the  stars  here  and  there  began  to  peep  out  in  the  heavens, 
and  shine  brighter  and  more  „ bright,  till  the  firmament 
above  appeared  blazoned  with  thousands  on  thousands 
of  shining  worlds,  the  armorial  bearings  of  the  Great 
Omnipotent.  Still  we  sat  in  silence — now  soaring  in 
thought  to  another  existence — now  dwelling  upon  the 
wonders  of  nature  as  a  complicated  whole,  or  equally 
complicated,  inexplicable  part — and  anon  reviewing  the 
past,  touching  upon  the  present,  and  leaping  forward  in 
imagination  to  the  future — that  future,  to  the  young,  of 
golden  hopes  and  bright  anticipations,  destined  for  the 
most  part  never  to  be  realized.  Thus  we  mutely  sat,  for 
an  hour  or  more,  when  Huntly  broke  the  silence. 

"Frank,"  he  said,  "what  a  charm,  what  a  solemn 
charm,  there  seems  in  everything  to-night !  I  have  been 
musing,  as  it  were,  upon  everything.  I  have  been  back 
to  my  boyhood  days,  when  I  was  wild,  giddy,  reckless, 
and  frolicsome  ;  when  I  had  no  thought  beyond  the  sport 
of  the  hour,  and  no  ambition  but  to  make  a  jest  of  my 


DEATH   01^  GREAT  MEDICINE, 


39 


fellow  beings.  I  have  traced  up  our  youthful  sports  (for 
you  and  I  were  almost  one,  you  know,)  to  that  sudden 
resolve  which  parted  me  for  the  last  time  from  my  be- 
loved father." 

Here  his  voice  faltered  to  a  pause,  and  for  some 
moments  he  remained  silent,  with  his  face  bowed  upon 
his  hands.  Then  raising  his  head,  he  dashed  away  a  few 
tears,  and  resumed  : 

"  I  have  recalled  event  after  event  to  the  present  time  ; 
and  I  find,  in  my  reckless  career,  that  I  have  much,  too 
much,  to  regret.  But  I  believe  in  an  overruling,  myste- 
rious Power,  and  that  there  has  been  a  purpose  in  all 
beyond  my  own  simple  inclinations.  Adversity,  I  feel, 
has  been  for  the  best,  by  working  in  me  a  great  change. 
Yes,  Frank,  \  am  a  changed  being.  From  boyhood  I 
have  passed  to  manhood,  and  from  the  idle  follies  of 
youth,  to  the  wiser  and  more  sober  thoughts  of  maturer 
age.  Once  I  was  all  for  adventure  and  change — but  now 
the  case  is  different.  I  have  seen  enough,  and  am  satis- 
fied. Let  me  once  more  be  comfortably  situated,  with  a 
home  and  friends,  means  to  gain  an  honest  living,  and, 
Frank,  one,  one  sweet  being,  to  cheer  me  with  her  smiles 
over  the  otherwise  toilsome  path  of  life,  and  1  shall  rest 
content." 

'*A  great  change  this,  in  Charles  Huntly,  most  cer- 
tainly," I  said ;  "  a  great  change  indeed  !  But  perhaps 
no  more  than  in  myself ;  for  I,  too,  am  tired  of  adven- 
ture, and  ardently  long  for  those  very  joys,  (joys  now, 
Charles,  though  once  it  was  not  so,)  of  which  you 
speak." 

Hark !"  exclaimed  my  friend  at  this  moment. 
"What  sound  is  that?" 

A  long,  loud,  mournful  wail  came  borne  upon  the 

air. 

"  Alas  !"  said  I  ;  "it  speaks  of  a  soul  departed  !" 

"  Let  us  return,"  said  Huntly,  with  a  sigh ;  and  forth- 
with we  set  out  for  the  village. 

On  our  way  thither,  we  several  times  heard  the  same 
melancholy  sound ;  and  as  we  entered  the  precincts  of 
the  little  settlement,  we  beheld  somber  figures  moving  to 
and  fro,  bearing  lighted  torches.     As  we  drew  near  the 


I40 


THE  LEGACY. 


center  lodge,  I  discovered  Prairie  Flower,  in  company 
with  sevreral  of  her  own  sex,  moaning  with  grief. 

She  espied  us  as  we  came  up,  and,  separating  from 
her  companions,  approached  and  extended  a  hand  to 
each. 

"Alas,  my  friends,"  she  sighed,  "I  need  your  sym- 
pathy !  He  who  has  been  to  me  a  guardian,  a  father,  is 
now  no  more."  . 

Her  voice  faltered  as  she  spoke,  and,  withdrawing  her 
hands  from  ours,  she  covered  her  eyes  and  wept  aloud. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  PRAIRIE  FLOWER. 


HE  second  day  from  his  death,  was  the  one 
set  apart  for  the  burial  of  the  Old-Man-of-the- 
Mountains.  Each  of  my  party,  and  every  one  of 
the  tribe,  was  present,  and  the  funeral  rite 
was  conducted  in  the  solemn  manner  de- 
scribed in  a  former  chapter.  As  it  had  been  the  province 
of  the  deceased  to  enact  a  peculiar  part  on  all  similar 
occasions,  and  as  this  constituted  one  of  their  forms  of 
worship,  it  became  necessary  for  the  tribe  to  select  one 
of  their  number  to  fill  his  place.  The  one  chosen  tor  the 
office,  which  he  was  to  hold  till  death,  was  an  old,  white- 
haired  Indian,  of  benevolent  aspect,  who  at  once  entered 
upon  his  duties,  and  thenceforth  took  the  title  of  *  Cxreat 

Medicine."  ,      ,  , 

A  ^rave  was  dug  in  the  valley  by  the  little  stream  ; 
and  here  the  deceased  was  buried,  with  all  the  mournful 
honors  befitting  his  station.  Great  were  the  lamenta- 
tions, and  many  the  tears  shed,  as  his  body  was  lowered 
to  his  last,  long,  narrow  home— the  house  appointed  for 
all  living:    When  his  remains  had  been  covered  from 


THE  LEGACY, 


141 


the  sight  of  all,  and  the  "  Last  Dirge"  had  been  chanted, 
several  Indian  maidens  brought  and  strewed  flowers  over 
the  damp  earth  ;  and  then  repeating,  Sleep  in  peace, 
beloved  !"  the  whole  tribe  took  a  solemn  leave  of  the 
spot,  and  slowly  and  sadly  retraced  their  steps  to  the 
village. 

An  hour  or  two  later,  Prairie  Flower  sought  me  out 
and  said  :  i 

"  I  suppose,  my  friend,  you  are  anxious  to  be  on  your 
way?" 

"At  your  earliest  convenience,"  I  replied. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  detain  you,"  she  rejoined  ;  "  but  if 
you  can  delay  another  day,  it  will  greatly  oblige  me,  as  I 
have  much  to  attend  to  ere  I  depart." 

"A  day,  either  way,  will  make  but  little  difference," 
said  I  ;  "  and,  moreover,  we  could  not  expect  you  to 
leave  sooner,  after  what  has  occurred." 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied.  "I  will  hasten  all  my 
arrangements,  and  at  sunrise  to-morrow  will  be  yours  to 
command  ;"  and  she  left  me  to  begin  her  preparations. 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  Prairie  Flow^er  informed  the 
tribe  of  what  had  transpired  relative  to  herself,  and  also 
of  her  present  design.  The  younger  members,  who  had 
always  looked  upon  her  as  one  of  themselves,  were  much 
surprised,  and  all  were  very  sad  at  the  thought  of  parting 
with  one  so  dear  to  them.  They  could  not  but  admit, 
under  the  circumstances,  it  was  her  duty  to  go  ;  but  they 
made  her  promise,  in  case  events  should  turn  up  induc- 
ing her  to  withdraw  from  them  altogether,  that  she  would 
at  least  pay  them  one  more  visit  ere  saying  the  final  fare- 
well. She  then  made  choice  of  three  young  men  and 
two  maidens  to  be  her  companions,  and  selected  five 
noble  steeds  for  them  to  ride,  reserving  the  little  pony 
for  herself. 

At  daylight  on  the  following  morning  the  whole  vil- 
lage was  astir;  and  having  broken  our  fast,  the  horses 
were  caught  and  saddled,  and,  ere  the  sun  was  half  an 
hour  aboi^e  the  hills,  all  were  in  readiness  to  start. 

^  The  pariing  scene  between  Prairie  Flower  and  her 
friends  was  very  affecting.  She  embraced  all  of  her  own 
sex— kissed  the  children  over  and  over  again — shook  the 


142 


THE  LEGACY, 


young  men  and  aged  by  the  hand — and,  amid  tears  at 
losing  her,  and  earnest  prayers  for  her  safety  and  happi- 
ness, sprung  upon  her  pony  and  dashed  away,  too  much 
affected  to  witness  the  separation  between  those  whc 
remained  and  those  selected  to  accompany  her.  The 
latter  now  took  leave,  one  by  one;  and  though nnuch 
feeling  was  displayed  on  both  sides,  yet  it  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  farewell  of  Prairie  Flower. 

"  My  friends,"  said  Huntly,  when  it  came  our  turn  to 
depart,  "  for  your  kindness  to  me  I  feel  very,  very  grate- 
ful—but at  present,  the  only  return  in  my  power  to 
make  is  thanks.  Should  I  ever  have  an  opportunity  to 
do  more,  you  shall  find  that  your  labors  in  my  behalf 
have  not  been  unworthily  bestowed.  Farewell  !  If  we 
meet  not  again  on  earth,  I  trust  we  may  in  a  better 
state." 

Each  of  our  party  next  proceeded  to  shake  hands 
with  each  of  the  tribe  ;  and  as  soon  as  this  was  over,  we 
sprung  upon  our  horses,  and,  dashing  away,  soon  joined 
those  in  advance. 

I  must  now  pass  rapidly  over  our  journey,  as  but 
little  occurred  on  the  way  of  interest  to  the  general 
reader. 

Our  provisions  were  supplied  by  our  trusty  rifles — 
Vire  sometimes  killing  a  bear,  a  deer,  and  once  or  twice  a 
buffalo. 

Entering  the  beautiful  South  Park,  a  kind  of  second 
Eden,  we  pushed  forward,  and  on  the  second  day  reached 
the  head  waters  of  the  South  Fork  of  Platte,  down  which 
stream  we  continued  to  St.  Vrain's  Fort,  where  we  all 
arrived  without  accident. 

Here  I  took  leave  of  Pierre  and  Black  George,  paying 
them  liberally  for  their  assistance,  and  pursued  our 
journey  toward  the  Black  Hills,  to  the  very  spot  where 
I  had  first  been  introduced  to  the  Mysterious  Tribe,  and 
where,  as  I  learned  from  Prairie  Flower,  they  intended 
making  their  winter  quarters. 

On  our  way  thither.  Prairie  Flower  threw  off  much 
of  that  reserve  which  she  had  hitherto  exercised  toward 
Huntly  ;  and  not  unfrequently  they  rode  on  together  for 
miles,  engaged  in  earnest  conversation.    The  effect  of 


THE  LEGACY, 


143 


this  upon  my  friend  was  very  gratifying  to  me  ;  it  seemed 
to  divert  his  thoughts  from  more  painful  subjects  ;  and  I 
saw  with  pleasure  that  his  pale,  careworn  features  gradu- 
ally resumed  their  wonted  appearance,  and  his  eye, 
especially,  its  former  luster.  Still  he  was  sad  at  times — 
very  sJid — and  then  I  knew  his  thoughts  were  dwelling 
upon  the  loss  of  his  father,  and  the  afflictions  of  his 
mother  and  sister.  He  was  naturally  but  little  given 
Co  despondency  ;  and  when  in  company  with  myself  or 
another,  ever  strove  to  be  cheerful,  that  he  might  not 
cause  us  the  pain  of  sympathy. 

Sometimes  I  held  long,  private  conversations  with 
Prairie  Flower  ;  and  then  she  would  ask  me  over  and 
over  again  about  her  supposed  sister  and  mother — 
whether  I  thought  they  would  be  glad  to  own  her — and 
more  than  once  made  me  recount  what  little  I  knew  of 
their  history.  This  was  a  theme  of  which  she  seemed 
never  to  tire,  and  oftentimes  would  be  affected  to  tears. 
Then  she  would  tell  me  how  she  had  mused  over  herself, 
and  wondered  who  she  was — whether  she  had  a  mother 
living — and  if  so,  whether  that  mother  ever  thought  of 
her.  Sometimes  she  had  fancied  herself  ignobly  born — 
that  she  had  been  cast  off  in  infancy — and  then  she  had 
gone  away  by  herself  and  wept  bitter  tears,  and  had 
prayed  ardently  that  she  might  be  resigned  to  her  fate. 
She  loved  the  Indians — among  whom,  at  an  early  age, 
her  lot  had  been  east — to  her  they  were  as  brothers  and 
sisters  ;  but  still  the  knowledge  that  she  was  not  of  their 
race — a  secret  yearning  for  the  fond  lopk  and  tender  tone 
of  a  mother — had  troubled  her  sorely;  and  nothing  but 
the  consolation  of  religion,  and  the  hope  of  at  last  meet- 
ing her  relatives  in  a  better  world,  had  supported  her 
through  her  lonely  trials. 

.Until  I  heard  this  from  the  lips  of  Prairie  Flower,  I 
had  no  idea  that  such  was  the  case,  and  had  believed  her 
contented  and  happy  in  the  position  where  Providence 
had  placed  her,  as  had  all  who  knew  her.  But  they,  as 
well  as  I,  had  overlooked,  that  where  mystery  clouds  the 
birth  of  an  individual,  the  thought  of  this  to  a  sensitive, 
intelligent  mind — his  or  her  speculations  upon  it — the 
want  of,  the  yearning  for,  more  knowledge — must  at 


144 


THE  LEGACY. 


times  render  such,  no  matter  what  the  outward  seeming, 
very  unhappy.  It  was  this  very  thing,  perhaps,  which 
had  made  Prairie  Flower  so  distant  toward  my  friend, 
whom  she  loved,  as  I  knew,  with  a  passion  pure  and  holy. 
She  had  thought  herself  unfit  to  be  his  companion,  and 
had  nobly  struggled  to  undo  what  nature  had  done  ;  and 
oh  !  what  a  hopeless  and  painful  struggle  it  had  been  ! — 
what  an  iron  resolution  it  had  required  to  carry  it  out ! 
—and  how  many  sleepless  nights  and  miserable  days  it 
must  have  cost  her  ! 

At  last  we  reached  the  village,  to  which,  some  three 
years  before,  I  had  been  borne  from  the  field  of  battle  in 
an  unconscious  state.  What  singular  associations  the 
sight  of  it  revived !  and  how  mournful  its  present 
aspect !  It  was  deserted,  and  silent  ;  and  though  most  of 
its  rude  tenements  were  still  standing,  yet  their  half  di- 
lapidated appearance,  and  the  general  air  of  long  deser- 
tion and  decay  everywhere  visible,  brought  to  mind  Gold- 
smith's unrivaled  and  beautiful  poem  of  the  "Deserted 
Village."  We  rode  through  the  little  town  in  silence, 
*  noting  each  thing  as  we  passed — and  when  we  had  got 
beyond  it,  Prairie  Flower  turned,  gazed  back,  sighed 
deeply,  wiped  a  few  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  then  urged 
her  little  pony  forward  at  a  rapid  pace. 

A  ride  of  half  a  mile  brought  us  to  a  huge  old  tree, 
with  a  hollow  trunk,  when  Prairie  Flower  came  to  a  halt 
and  said  : 

"  My  friends,  this  is  the  spot  designated  by  Great 
Medicine  as  the  one  where  I  should  find  a  treasure  to  me 
more  valuable  than  a  mine  of  gold.  Beneath  that  stone 
lies  all  or  nothing.  Oh !  how  I  tremble,  lest  it  prove 
the  latter  !   Heaven  grant  I  find  what  I  seek  !" 

"Amen  to  that !"  responded  I  ;  and  the  whole  party 
dismounted. 

Leading  the  way.  Prairie  Flower  passed  the  tree  a 
few  feet,  and  rested  her  delicate  foot  upon  a  stone  of 
singular  appearance. 

"  Here  !"  she  almost  gasped,  while  her  features  grew 
deadly  pale  with  excitement,  and  her  frame  shook  nerv- 
ously :  "  Here  !"  and  she  pointed  down  with  her  finger, 
but  could  say  no  more. 


THE  LEGACY. 


145 


Forming  a  circle  around  the  stone,  we  all  gazed  upon 
it  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then  addressing  Huntly  : 

"  Come,  my  friend,"  I  said,  "let  us  raise  it." 

Stooping  down,  we  applied  all  our  strength  to  it  in 
vain. 

"  It  seems  bedded  in  the  earth  by  nature,"  said  Huntly. 

"  Oh,  no  !  say  not  that !"  cried  Prairie  Flower,  in 
alarm.  "  vSay  not  that,  I  beg  of  you  !  This  is  the  spot 
described  to  me  by  the  Old-Man-of-the-Mountains.  I 
have  thought  of  it  by  day — dreamed  of  it  by  night.  I 
here  have  rested  hopes  of  which  you  little  think.  Hopes, 
whose  realization  may  render  me  the  most  happy,  as  dis- 
appointment would  the  most  miserable,  being  on  earth. 
If  I  have  made  a  mistake,  it  is  a  fatal  one.    A  mistake 

 But  no  !  no  !  it  must  not,  must  not,  be  !   Help,  here, 

some  of  you  !"  she  added,  addressing  the  others.  "  Be 
quick  !  and  do  not  keep  me  in  this  torturing  suspense  !" 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  almost  frantically,  and  her 
manner  was  very  wild.  As  she  concluded,  she  clasped 
her  hands  and  gazed  down  upon  the  rock  with  a  look  I 
shall  never  forget.  It  was  the  agonized  concentration  of 
hope  and  fear  :  as  if,  in  truth,  she  feared  herself  about  to 
lose  the  only  friend  she  had  on  earth. 

Instantly  Teddy  and  one  of  the  Indians  laid  hold 
with  us,  and  our  united  efforts  moved  the  stone  from  its 
foundation.  All  pressed  forward,  and  eagerly  gazed  into 
the  aperture.  Nothing  was  there,  apparently,  but  smooth, 
solid  earth. 

For  a  moment  Prairie  Flower  stood  stupefied  with 
amazement  and  despair.  Then,  burying  her  face  in  her 
hands,  she  sunk  down  upon  the  earth,  without  uttering  a 
syllable. 

"  Do  not  despair !"  cried  I  ;  and,  bending  down,  I 
felt  the  earth  with  my  hand. 

It  was  soft,  as  if  it  had  once  been  removed.  I  hastily 
dug  down  a  few  inches,  and  my  hand  touched  a  solid 
substance.  Brushing  away  the  dirt  rapidly,  I  dis- 
covered, to  my  unspeakable  delight,  a  small,  wooden 
box. 

"  It  is  here !"  shouted  I  ;  "it  is  here !"  and  the  next 

9 


,46  THE  LEGACY. 

moment  I  had  torn  it  from  the  ground  and  stood  trium- 
P'^t^tS^setprairie  Flower,  who  started  -  h 
feet  Jith  a  scream,  caught  the  ^o--  from  my  hand  pressed 

'^"uMv  Wends  you  must  excuse  me  !-but  oh  !  you 
know^ot  cannot\now,  my  feelings  for  the  last  five 

""^■^Te  can  at  least  imagine  thern,'  returned  I ;  '^and 
certainly  there  is  no  apology  needed.    Wt  are  only  to 
'^^P^e  ^^fa^ur:' ifdleVinrexclaimed,  holding  the 

=rti^-;:ngigTofx^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

translated,  reads,  '  Seek  lower  !  "observed  Hunt- 

<<  xViQi- imnlies  something  still  t)elow,  oubcivcu 

'"""'This  is  strange  !"  remarked  Prairie  Flower,  as  we 
imsis  siraugc.  ,      ,     [jgre  could  Great 

all  stood  examining  'h'^m,'  ^''j^^r"  e  is  no  gold  in 
Medicine  have  procured  them  ?    ^  here  is  8 

with  some  sharp  instrument, 


THE  LEGACY. 


H7 


"And  on  this,"  said  Huntly,  holding  up  another. 

"And  on  this,"  repeated  I,  turning  over  the  third. 

"They  were  intended  for  you,  Prairie  Flower,"  ob- 
served Huntly,  addressing  her  ;  "and  together  form  no 
mean  gift." 

"He  was  always  kind  to  me,  and  I  loved  him,"  re- 
joined Prairie  Flower,  artlessly,  her  eyes  filling  with 
tears. 

"  But  where  could  so  much  gold,  in  this  rough  state, 
have  been  obtained  ?"  asked  Huntly,  turning  to  me. 

A  sudden  thought  flashed  through  my  mind,  and  I 
turned  to  Prairie  Flower. 

"  Was  Great  Medicine  ever  much  abroad  ?" 

"  Never  far  from  the  tribe,  since  I  first  knew  him," 
was  her  answer. 

"  But  the  tribe  has  been  roving  ?" 

"  Yes,  we  have  seldom  spent  a  year  at  a  time  in  one 
place." 

"  Were  you  ever  in  California  ?" 

"  One  season  we  quartered  on  a  beautiful  oasis  in  the 
Great  Desert,  as  we  termed  it."  • 

"  Ha !  then  there  is  some  grounds  for  my  con- 
jecture;"  and  taking  Huntly  aside,  I  recalled  to  his 
mind  the  shiny  sand  we  had  there  gathered,  and  added  : 
"I  think  we  were  right  in  our  surmises  of  its  bein^ 
gold  !" 

"True,"  he  answered,  with  a  start ;  "I  remember  now, 
though  I  had  completely  forgotten  the  circumstance." 

"And  so  had  I,  till  this  revived  it." 
Have  you  any  of  that  sand  with  you,  Frank  ?" 

"  I  have  not.  Our  subsequent  perils  drove  the  matter 
from  my  mind  ;  and  if  any  remained  on  my  person  when 
we  arrived  at  Sutter's,  it  was  thrown  away  with  the  tat- 
tered garments  that  contained  it." 

"  Well,  let  it  go  !"  rejoined  Huntly,  musingly ;  "let  it 
go!  There  is  gold  there,  without  doubt— and  someday 
It  will  doubtless  be  the  means  of  great  speculation." 

"  This  being  the  case,  my  friend,  suppose  we  make 
another  tour,  and  ascertain  for  a  certainty  ?  If  true,  our 
fortune  is  made." 

Huntly  looked  at  me  seriously  for  a  moment,  with  a 


148 


THE  LEGACY. 


very  peculiar  expression  of  countenance,  and  then  re- 
ioined,  in  a  decisive  tone :  .      ,  ,        i  j  ^  4. 

"No  Frank  !  not  even  a  mine  of  gold  would  tempt 
me  to  encounter  the  perils  of  such  a  journey  again. 
Suppose  I  were  to  prove  successful  and  make  a  fortune 
—what  then  ?  What  is  wealth,  after  all,  that  man  should 
make  himself  a  slave  ?  'Tis  here-'tis  there-  tis  gone. 
Look  at  my  lamented  father,  for  example  !  One  day  he 
could  count  his  thousands-the  next  he  was  a  beggar— 
and  the  Rrave  soon  followed  to  cover  a  broken  heart. 
Fortune  is  not  happiness-therefore  I'll  pay  no  court  to 
the  truant  jade.  Let  those  have  wealth  who  crave  it ;  let 
them  worship  the  golden  Mammon  ;  for  myself,  let  me 
be  happy  with  little,  and  I  ask  no  more.  ^  But,  come !  1 
see  Prairie  Flower  and  the  rest  are  waiting  for  us,  and 
we  must  be  on  the  move."      ,    ,     ,  u   k  .  fir^/i 

Joining  the  others,  we  made  further  search;  but  tind- 
ine  nothing  new,  we  all  mounted  our  horses  and  set  tor- 
ward-Prairie  Flower  in  better  spirits  than  I  had  ever 
seen  her  Though  in  possession  of  the  box,  supposed  to 
contain  all  she  desired,  yet  she  absolutely  refused  to  open 
it,  lest  she  might  be  tempted  to  an  examination  of  its 
contents,  and  thus  break  her  promise  to  the  dying  old 


man. 


Summer  had  already  passed,  and  the  mortal  stroke  of 
old  Autumn  was  even  now  beginning  to  be  felt  on  tne 
mountains.  The  trees,  which  had  waved  their  green 
leaves  as  an  accompaniment  to  the  music  of  the  forest 
choir,  were  already  changing  color,  as  if  in  dread  ot  the 
steady,  onward  strides  of  their  annual  but  ever-conquer- 
ine  foe  The  first  process  of  decay  had  begun— but  so 
beautifully  begun,  that  one,  as  he  gazed  upon  it  though 
it  awakened  a  solemn,  almost  melancholy  train  of 
thought,  could  hardly  wish  it  otherwise.  As  we  ascended 
the  mountains,  higher  and  more  high,  the  scene  below 
us  became  enchanting  in  its  variety.  Far,  far  away,  tor 
miles  upon  miles,  the  eye  roved  over  hill  and  plain; 
while  the  soul,  as  it  were,  drank  in  the  very  essence  of 
nature's  beauty.  The  atmosphere  was  cool  and  clear  and 
the  sun  brilliant,  but  not  warm.  In  every  direction  there 
was  something  new  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon-something 


THE  LEGACY, 


149 


new  for  the  mind  to  ponder.  I  beheld  distant  mount- 
ains rising  to  the  very  skies — isolated,  glistening  and 
cold  in  their  lonely  grandeur — as  one  who  has  ventured 
to  the  topmost  round  of  Ambition's  ladder,  and  scorns 
in  his  elevation  all  meaner  objects  grovelling  in  the  dust 
below.  I  beheld  lovely  valleys,  as  yet  untouched  by  the 
destroyer,  still  bright  in  their  summer  garments,  through 
which  purled  silvery  streams — the  former  doomed  ere 
long  to  put  on  the  withered  shreds  of  mourning,  and  the 
latter  to  cease  their  murmurs  in  the  icy  fetters  of  the 
advancing  Winter-King.  In  short,  I  beheld  hills,  and 
dales,  and  forests,  and  rolling  prairies,  and  rivers,  and 
rivulets,  all  spread  before  me  in  picturesque  succession, 
and  all  more  or  less  variegated  with  the  many-hued  man- 
tle of  autumn.  The  scene  was  enchanting  ;  and  as 
Prairie  Flower,  who  with  my  friend  had  also  been 
silently  surveying  it,  observed,  with  a  sigh  : 
Most  melancholy  beautiful."  i 

But  lovely  as  was  the  view,  I  had  but  little  time  for 
contemplation  ;  for  the  long  journey  before  us,  and  the 
lateness  of  the  season,  required  us  to  hasten  forward, 
that  we  might  pass  the  mountains  before  the  snowstorms 
and  ice  of  winter  should  completely  bar  our  way.  We 
had  yet  some  thirteen  hundred  miles  to  travel,  and,  with 
everything  favorable,  could  not  hope  to  reach  our  desti- 
nation in  less  than  five  or  six  weeks.  Fortunately  our 
animals  were  in  good  order,  lightly  laden,  with  no 
troublesome  vehicles  creaking  and  rumbling  after,  to 
delay  us  with  bad  roads  and  breaking  accidents. 

Leaving  Laramie  Peak  to  our  right,  we  struck  across 
the  Laramie  Plains  to  the  Sweet  Water  Mountains,  and 
thence  descended  to  the  great  Oregon  trail,  crossing  the 
Rocky  Mountains  at  the  well-known  South  Pass.  For 
the  rest  of  the  distance,  our  road  was  to  some  extent  a 
traveled  one,  and  our  progress,  with  some  little  delays, 
very  rapid.  As  nothing  of  unusual  interest  occurred  on 
the  route,  I  shall  pass  it  over  without  a  record. 

On  the  evening  of  the  first  day  of  November,  1843,  we 
came  in  sight  of  the  lights  of  Oregon  City,  which  we 
hailed  with  three  deafening  cheers. 


A    JOYFUL  REUNION. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


A  JOYFUL  REUNION. 


rp^^O  describe  my  feelings  and  those  of  Huntly 
I^Spi  when  we  halted  within  view  of  the  dwellings 
IMM?;}  containing  those  around  the  very  tendrils  ot 
iS^S||  who'se  hearts  our  own  were  entwined,  on 
whose  happiness  or  misery  our  own  were 
depending,  would  be  impossible,  and  therefore  I  shall 
no?  attempt  it.  The  day's  journey  had  been  very  severe 
-for  we  had  all  ridden  hard,  in  order  if  K^ssible  to  reach 
the  village  before  nightfall.  In  this  we  had  not  succeeded  ; 
but  knowing  we  were  near,  we  still  pressed  forvvard 
ater  night  had  set  in,  and,  by  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening 
had  come  in  sight  of  the  glimmering  lights  of  the  httle 

'""^We  now  held  a  short  consultation,  which  resulted  in 
Huntlv  Teddy  and  myself  resolving  to  go  forward,  while 
Prairie  Flower  and  her  companions  were  to  encamp  and 
remain  where  they  were  through  the  night.  Our  object 
in  this  was  to  see  our  friends  alone,  and  prepare  theni  to 
receive  our  fair  benefactress,  whom  we  intended  to  intro- 
duce as  an  Indian  maiden,  and  then  leave  matters  to  take 

''"HavlngTTength  arranged  everything  to  our  satU- 
faction,  we  rode  forward,  and,  in  less  than  half  an  hour, 
drevv  ran  near  the  humble  cottage  of  Mrs.  Huntly^ 

"And  is  it  here,"  said  Charles,  as  he  gazed  with  a 
si<.h  upon  the  rude  edifice,  "that  I  again  meet  my  dear 
.nSther  and  sister?  Alas,  Frank,  there  is  a  change  indeed 
in  our  fortune  !  and  now  I  feel  it.  .     ^  a 

"Repine  not,"  returned  I      but  rather  thank  God 
that  voii  are  safe,  and  look  forward  to  better  days  ! 

-rwin  not  repine,"  he  said.  "But,  Frank,  there  is 
such  arair  of  poverty  here  that  I  could  not  avoid  giving 

^'"11  w^IpoWe  msmounted,  and.  giving  our  horses 


A    JOYFUL  REUNION. 


in  charge  of  Teddy — with  orders  to  take  good  care  of 
them,  and  seek  another  place  of  rest  for  himself — we  ap- 
proached the  door  with  trembling  steps,  and  with  con- 
flicting feelings  of  hope  and  fear.  What  if  something 
had  happened,  and  we  should  find  a  stranger  in  place  of 
those  we  sought  ? 

The  house  was  tightly  closed,  but  not  unoccupied,  as 
we  could  see  b);  the  light  which  here  and  there  shone 
through  a  crevice. 

"  Go  forward  !"  whispered  Huntly  ;  and  I  advanced 
and  rapped  timidly  on  the  rough  door. 

To  this  there  came  no  answer*  and  I  repeated  it,  but 
harder  and  louder. 

Who  is  there  ?"  said  a  soft  voice  from  within. 

Gracious  heavens  !  how  its  tones  thrilled  me  !  I  knew 
it !  I  would  have  known  it  among  a  million  !  It  was  the 
voice  of  my  own  beloved  Lilian  ! 

"A  friend,"  answered  I,  as  with  one  hand  I  grasped 
the  arm  of  Charles,  who  was  now  trembling  with  agi- 
tation. 

"Pardon  me  !"  answered  Lilian  ;  "but  will  you  give 
me  your  name  ?  as  it  is  already  somewhat  late,  and  there 
is  no  one  within  but  mother  and  myself." 

"And  do  you  not  know  me,  Lilian?" 

"That  voice!"  I  heard  her  exclaim;  "that  voice!" 
and  the  next  moment  there  was  an  agitated  rattling  at 
the  door,  which  instantly  swung  open,  and  revealed  the 
idol  of  my  thoughts  standing  before  me,  pale  and 
trembling. 

"  Lilian  !"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  thank  God  we  meet  again!" 
and  in  an  instant  she  was  folded  in  my  embrace  and 
weeping  with  joy. 

"  Oh  !"  she  ejaculated,  looking  up  affectionately  into 
my  face  :  "  oh,  Francis,  this  is  more  than  I  have  prayed 
for — more  than  I  expected  !  I  did  not  look  for  you  this 
season.  But,  ha!"  she  exclaimed,  as  the  shadow  of  her 
brother,  who  had  stolen  in  behind  her  unperceived,  fell 
upon  her  vision  ;  "  we  are  not  alone." 

She  turned  suddenly  round,  and  her  eyes  met  the 
tearful  ones  of  Charles,  as,  with  outstretched  arms,  he 


152  A    JOYFUL  REUNION. 

stood  ready  to  receive  her,  too  much  affected  to  utter  a 
syllable.^  brief  moment  she  remained  speechless  and 
motionless,  as  if  fearing  to  believe  her  senses  ;  and  then 
gasping,  "  My  brother  !"  she  staggered  forward  and  sunk 
half  fainting  upon  his  breast.  .     ,   ^  , 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Huntly,  who  had  been  on  the 
point  of  retiring,  but  had  been  deterred  by  the  sound  of 
voices,  entered  the  room  from  an  adjoining  apartment 
"Whom  have  we  here?"  she  said,  as  she  advanced 
toward  us,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  inquiringly, 
but  unable  from  the  position  of  the  light  to  see  our  feat- 
ures "Francis!"  she  exclaimed,  joyfully,  as  1  took  a 
step  forward  ;  "  Francis,  my  son,  do  I  /"deed  behold  you 
aeain  !"  and,  ere  the  words  were  concluded,  I  found  my- 
sflf  closed  in  a  motherly  embrace.  "This  is  indeed  a 
happy  surprise  !"  she  added  warmly. 

"But  there,"  returned  I,  pointing  to  Charles,  who, 
still  straining  Lilian  to  his  breast,  was  now  gazing  upon 
his  mother  with  that  singular  expression  of  intense 
rapture,  which  the  imprisoned  soul,  struggling  as  it  were 
for  release,  ^nd  choking  all  utterance  stamps  upon 
every  feature  :  "there,"  slid  I,  "a  more  happy  surprise 
awaits  you  ;"  and  springing  forward,  I  ^ook  the  h^^^^^ 
conscious  form  of  Lilian  from  the  arms  of  my  end 

For  a  moment  mother  and  son  stood  face  to  tcce, 
gazing  upon  each  other,  completely  overpowered  by 

Moliie?  r  at  length  burst  from  the  lips  of  Charles. 

"  M^v  son  '"  1  I 

■      And  staggering  forward,  they  fell  upon  each  other  s 
neck,  and  gave  their  overcharged  souls  vent  in  tears. 

For  some  time  no  one  spoke  ;  and  then  raising  her 
tearful  eyes  to  Heaven,  and  in  a  voice  of  deep  solemnity, 
Mrs.  Huntly  ejaculated :  ,      ,  .  .  „f 

"  Almighty  God  !  I  thank  Thee  for  this  moment  of 
unclouded  happiness  !-for  restoring  the  wanderer  safe 
to  the  only  parent  he  has  on  earth  !  ■  ,      ,  \ 

"  Ay,  the  only  parent !"  added  Charles,  with  a  fresh 
burst  of  emotion;  "the  only  one,  dear  mother!  My 
father— alas  !  my  father  !" 


A    yOYFUL  REUNION. 


53 


He  paused,  overcome  by  his  feelings. 

But  I  will  not  prolong  the  affecting  scene.  Suffice, 
that  lor  more  than  an  hour  very  little  was  said,  except 
in  the  way  of  thanks  to  the  Supreme  Ruler  for  brin^rin^ 
us  all  safely  together  once  more.  And  well  mi^hl  we 
be  thankful  to  that  watchful  Providence,  which  had  slum- 
bered not  in  our  hours  of  grief  and  danger,  but  had 
brought  us  all  out,  as  it  were,  from  the  very  Valley  of 
the  Shadow  of  Death."  ^ 

The  first  transports  of  joy  over,  we  gradually  grew 
ca  m  ;  and  having  formed  a  small  circle  before  the  cheer- 
lul  nre  : 

"Now,"  said  Mrs.  Huntly,  "let  me  hear  something  of 
my  friends  in  Boston."  ^ 

"Alas  ;"  sighed  I,  my  mind  reverting  at  once  to  my 
own  parents,    I  can  give  you  no  news  from  that  quar- 

"And  have  you  not  been  home?"  she  asked  in 
surprise. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Then  you  met  Charles  on  the  way,  and  he  perhaps 
can  tell  me  1    and  she  turned  to  him  inquiringly 

I  ^5^'  mother,"  he  answered  sadly,  -  I  have  not  seen 
u.^ru  ^  "^J  nativity  since  I  there  parted  from  you." 
Why,  what  means  this  ?"  she  asked,  turning  to  me 
l^ardon  me,"  I  said,  in  some  embarrassment  "if 
I  once  deceived  you  both  !— but  I  did  it  for  the  best  ' 
*  Deceived  us!"   exclaimed   both   Lilian   and'  her 

'^^l^fl''  f  ^'^'■^3^  explain  yourself,  Francis  '" 

added  the  latter. 

"  You  remember  I  told  you  that  when  I  parted  from 
L/harles  he  was  oomcr  eastward  ?" 
"  Well  ?  well  ?" 

"  But  I  did  not  add  that  it  was  only  intended  as  a 
parting  of  a  few  minutes,  and  that  when  I  met  vou  on 
the  mountains  I  believed  him  lost  to  us  all  forever  " 

"  Lost?"  cried  Mrs  Huntly. 

"  Lost  ?"  echoed  Lilian. 

v.-  ''^"st;"  rejoined  L    "  Ay,  lost  indeed— for  I  believed 
him  dead. 

"Oh,  speak,  Francis!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Huntlv 
greatly  agitated,  and  looking  from  me  to  Charles,  and 


54 


A    JOYFUL  REUNION, 


from  Charles  to  me  :     speak,  Francis,  and  tell  us  what 
you  mean  !" 

"Charles,"  I  returned  in  a  trembling  voice,  ''was 
taken  prisoner  by  a  band  of  guerrillas  ;  but  I— I— 
believed  him  dead— for  no  trace  of  him  could  be  found.'' 
"A  prisoner?  You,  Charles,  my  son,  a  prisoner?" 
cried  his  mother  ;  and  again  throwing  herself  upon  his 
neck,  she  burst  into  tears  ;  while  Lilian,  gliding  up  to 
his  side,  took  his  hand  in  silence,  and  gazed  mournfully 
upon  him  with  swimming  eyes. 

"  Is  it  so,  Charles  ?"  asked  his  pother.    "  Is  it  so  ? 
Have  you  indeed  been  in  captivity  ?" 

"  I  have,  dear  mother  I  I  have  !"  he  answered,  in  a 
voice  choked  with  emotion. 

Drawing  back,  Mrs.  Huntly  gazed  upon  him  with  a 
look  of  unutterable  affection  ;  and  then  turning  to  me 
she  said,  somewhat  coldly  : 

"Francis,  how  could  you  deceive  me!  I  did  not 
think  this  of  you." 

I  was  about  to  reply,  when  Lilian  turned  quickly 
round  and  confronted  her  mother  : 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "do  not  speak  in  that  manner  ! 
If  Francis  did  not  tell  us  all,  it  was  because  he  feared  to 
give  us  unnecessary  pain.  Was  it  not  so  ?"  she  asked, 
appealing  to  me  with  her  soft,  blue  eyes. 

"  It  was  !"  I  replied,  struggling  to  command  my  feel- 
ings ;  "  it  was,  dear  Lilian— God  bless  you  for  an  angel, 
it  was !"  . 

"I  crave  your  pardon  !"  said  Mrs.  Huntly,  taking  my 
hand.  "  I  did  not  intend  to  wound  your  feelings,  Fran- 
cis, and  sincerely  believe  you  did  all  for  the  best.  But 
the  suddenness  of  the  news,  the  shock,  surprised  and 
alarmed  me,  and  I  did  not  heed  what  I  said.  I  now 
know  it  was  all  for  the  best  ;  for  had  I  known  that 
Charles  was  lost,  I  fear  the  result  might  have  been  fatal. 
Thank  God,"  she  continued,  turning  again  to  her  son, 
"  that  you  are  safe  before  me  now  !  Oh,  Charles,  my 
son,"  she  added,  covering  her  eyes  with  her  hands  to  con- 
ceal her  emotion,  "you  must  never,  never,  leave  me 
again  !" 


A    JOYFUL    REUNION.  '55 

"  Never,  mother,"  he  answered,  solemnly  ;  "  never, 
while  life  remains  !" 

''And  this,"  said  Lilian,  turning  fondly  to  me,  is 
why  you  became  so  agitated  whenever  I  mentioned  my 
brother  !  I  understand  it  all  now.  And  this,  too,  is  the 
cause  of  your  abrupt  departure,  which  has  ever  appeared 
so  singular  to  me,  and  over  which  Eva  and  I  have  specu- 
lated many  an  hour  without  solving  the  mystery." 

"And  did  mv  departure  indeed  appear  so  singular, 
sweet  Lilian?"  I'inquired,  in  surprise.^^  ''  Did  I  not  tell 
you  I  was  going  to  seek  your  brother  ?" 

"  Ay  !  but  you  forget  you  did  not  tell  me  he  was  lost 
—and  we,  you  know,  supposed  him  then  in  Boston. 
There  was  nothing  so  remarkable  in  your  going  to  meet 
him,  as  in  the  hurried  manner  in  which  you  departed, 
without  any  previous  notice,  as  if  you  had  heard  bad 
tidings.  It  was  this  that  put  us  to  conjecture." 
-    "  True,  I  did  overlook  that." 

"  Well,  well,  dear  Francis,  never  mind  ;  you  are  here 
again  ;  and  now  we  must  hear  the  tale  of  your  adven- 
tures, and  how  you  found  Charles  ?" 

''Yes,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Huntly,  "I  am  all  anxiety  to 
hear  the  story." 

"  Who  shall  tell  it  ?"  asked  L 

"  You,  Frank,"  answered  Charles.  "  You  can  tell  it 
better  than  I."  r  .  . 

The  tale  I  told  :  beginning  with  the  loss  of  my  friend 
at  Pueblo  de  los  Angelos,  and  its  subsequent  effect  upon 
me,  up  to  the  time  when  I  met  with  his  mother  and  sister 
near  the  South  Pass  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  I  then 
narrated  my  last  adventure,  and  gave  a  brief  description 
of  the  scenes  already  laid  before  the  reader,  and  how  I 
had,  little  by  little,  traced  Charles  to  .he  very  spot  of  his 
captivity,  only  to  find  that  another  had  released  him. 
This  led  me  to  speak  more  fully  than  I  had  previously 
done  of  Prairie  Flower,  whom  I  again  described  as  a 
beautiful  being,  and  as  good  as  she  was  beautiful.  I 
recalled  to  mind  how  she  had,  at  the  risk  of  her  life, 
appeared  to  warn  the  emigrants  on  that  memorable  night 
while  journeying  over  the  Rocky  Mountains.  I  then 
reverted  to  Charles,  and  how  I  had  found  him  in  com- 


156 


A    JOYFUL  REUNION, 


pany  with  the  tribe.  In  fact,  I  gave  an  outline  of  all  the 
principal  incidents  of  interest,  carefully  avoiding  any 
allusion  to  the  attachment  existing  between  my  friend 
and  Prairie  Flower,  as  also  that  we  had  any  conjectures 
as  to  who  the  latter  might  be,  or  that  she  had  accom- 
panied us  on  our  last  journey.  ,   T  -T 

During  the  recital,  both  Mrs.  Huntly  and  Lilian 
listened  eagerly,  occasionally  interrupting  me  with  some 
question  or  exclamation,  when  the  incidents  detailed 
were  unusually  exciting.  In  fact,  whenever  I  described 
a  scene  of  danger  to  myself,  Lilian  would  press  close  to 
my  side,  and  gaze  up  into  my  face,  pale  and  breathless, 
sometimes  shuddering  at  the  picture  called  up  m  her 
mind,  and  seem  to  hang  upon  my  words  as  intently  as 
thous-h  they  were  actually  imparting  life  or  death  to  him 
she  loved  Nay,  more  than  this  :  On  several  occasions 
did  she  become  so  lost  in  the  thrilling  tale,  as  to  utter 
exclamations  of  horror  ;  and  then,  remembering  where 
she  was,  she  would  clasp  my  hand  with  a  hearty  pressure 
and  in  a  low  voice  thank  God  for  my  deliverance  and 

present  safety.  ,  t  -a  v 

And  where  is  this  beautiful  Indian  maiden  now  i 
she  asked  when  I  had  done.    "  What  a  singular  being  ! 
Oh,  I  should  love  her  so  for  her  goodness,  and  her  kind- 
ness to  those  so  dear  to  me."  ,      „  x  a 

"Ay,  Lilian,  you  would  indeed  love  her,  I  answered  ; 
"  for  she  is  one  of  the  sweetest  beings  you  ever  knew." 

"  Always  excepting  Eva,"  she  rejoined  playfully. 

"  Nay,  Lilian,  I  will  except  no  one  but  your  own 

sweet  self."  .  .  .„  . 

But  what  has  become  of  this  Prairie  Flower  ?  in- 
quired Mrs.  Huntly.  "  You  did  not  tell  us  where  you 
had  left  her."  ^     ^  ^„ 

And  what  if  I  should  say  she  is  near  at  hand  ? 
Near  at  hand  ?"  repeated  Lilian. 
"  Explain,  Francis  ?" added  Mrs.  Huntly. 
"  She  crossed  the  mountains  with  us." 
"  Indeed  !  and  where  is  she  now  ?" 
"  Within  sight  of  the  lights  of  this  great  city. 
"Is  it  possible!    And  why  did  you  not  bring  her 
here  at  once?" 


A    JOYFUL  REUNION. 


137 


"  Why,  it  was  already  late;  and  as  she  has  several 
companions  with  her,  we  thought  it  better  for  the  party 
to  encamp  and  remain  till  morning,  while  we  went  for- 
ward and  prepared  you  to  receive  them." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  her!"  rejoined  Lilian  ; 
"  and  so  will  Eva  be  when  she  hears  of  her.  While  she 
remains  with  us  we  will  treat  her  as  a  sister." 

"  I  believe  you,"  returned  I,  pointedly,  and  fixing  my 
eye  upon  Huntly,  who  blushed,  and  turned  his  head 
aside,  but  made  no  remark. 

"Oh,  what  a  surprise  awaits  Eva  on  the  morrow  I" 
pursued  Lilian.  "She  does  not  dream  you  are  here; 
and  yet  she  has  been  praying  for  your  return,  with 
brother  Charles,  every  day  since  you  left." 

"  I  thank  her,  from  my  heart,  for  her  interest  in  our 
welfare  !   She  is  a  noble  girl." 

"She  is  indeed!"  rejoined  Lilian,  enthusiastic  in 
praise  of  her  friend  ;  "  and  I  love  her  as  a  sister — which 
I  hope  she  may  be  ere  long,"  she  added,  "playfully,  turn- 
ing to  her  brother,  who  appeared  not  a  little  embarrassed. 
"  Oh,  Charles,"  continued  Lilian,  pursuing  her  train  of 
thought,  "  if  ever  one  being  loved  another  without  see- 
ing him,  dear  Eva  loves  you — for  your  name  is  ever  on 
her  tongue." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  for  it,  certainly,"  replied  Charles, 
evasively,  feeling  himself  pressed  for  an  answer. 

"  And  well  you  may  be,  for  her  equal  does  not  live  !" 
persisted  I^ilian,  with  spirit,  loth  to  quit  the  subject. 

"  Do  not  assert  that  !"  returned  1,  with  a  smile.  "  You 
forget  that  Eva  had  a  sister !" 

"But  who  knows  anything  of  her  sister,  Francis?" 

"Ay,  who  knows?"  answered  I,  reflecting  on  what  I 
had  suspected,  and  on  what  the  morrow  might  reveal 
"  But  come,  Lilian,  since  Eva  has  so  much  place  in  your 
thoughts,  tell  me  how  it  has  fared  with  you  both  since 
last  we  met." 

"Oh,  as  well  as  could  be  expected,  and  you  away," 
she  ansv/ered.  "We  have  walked,  and  ridden,  and 
played;  and  sung,  and  read,  and  talked,  and  wondered 
fifty  times  a  day  where  you  were,  and  when  you  would 
return,  and  if  Charles  would  come  with  you,  and  so  on, 


158 


A    JOYFUL  REUNIUi\. 


Tc  sum  up,  the  summer  and  most  of  the  autumn  have 
passed— but  somehow  the  time  has  been  more  tedious 
than  I  could  have  wished.  There  is  not  the  society  here 
to  please  us,  and  on  the  whole  we  have  not  been  very 
wxU  contented.  There  has  been  quite  an  addition  of 
settlers  here  during  the  past  season,  and  the  village  has 
much  improved  since  you  saw  it.  In  fact,  it  begins  to 
assume  the  aspect  of  a  civilized  town  ;  but  still  I  feel  I 
could  never  be  happy  here." 

"  And  would  you  like  to  return  to  the  East  ?" 

"  Oh,  dearly  !" 

"You  shall  start  in  the  spring,  then  !"  I  rejoined. 

"  Oh,  that  is  joyful  news  !  And  Eva  shall  go  also  ?" 

"  All  that  desire  to  accompany  us,  Lilian." 

"  Eva  will  be  so  rejoiced  at  this  !  But  mother  has  in- 
vested what  little  means  she  had  in  the  purchase  of  land." 

"  Well,  that  can  be  sold  again  :  and  it  will  have  lost 
nothing  in  value,  since  the  town  has  begun  to  flourish." 

"  And  will  you  go,  mother  ?"  asked  Lilian. 

"  As  my  children  desire,"  answered  Mrs.  Huntly.  I 
shall  leave  all  to  you,  my  children.  But,  come! Charles 
is  about  to  tell  us  of  his  captivity;  and,  although  it  is 
late,  I  am  anxious  to  hear  his  tale." 

Thus  ended  my  conversation  for  the  time  with  Lilian  ; 
and  forming  a  half  circle  around  her  brother,  we  all  at- 
tentively listened  to  his  thrilling  narrative. 

By  the  time  he  had  concluded,  the  night  was  far  ad- 
vanced ;  and  though  I  had  a  thousand  things  to  say  to 
Lilian,  I  deferred  them  all  to  another  opportunity,  and 
retired  to  rest  with  a  lighter  heart  than  I  had  known  for 
many  a  long  year. 


THEY   MEET  AT  LAST. 


159 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
THEY  MEET  AT  LAST. 

^S^^HEN  I  awoke  on  the  following  morning,  the 
jSc^rj  bright  sun  was  already  streaming  through  the 
L^^^jgl     half  closed  shutter  of  my  room.    Huntly  was 

up  and  dressed  and  standing  by  my  bed. 
^  "  Come,  Frank,  the  sun  is  up  before  you, 

and  breakfast  is  waiting  !"  he  said. 

At  first  I  felt  a  little  bewildered,  as  a  person  some- 
times will  in  a  strange  place.  But  it  was  only  moment- 
ary ;  and  remembering  where  I  was,  I  sprung  to  the 
floor,  dressed  hastily,  and  accompanied  my  friend  to  the 
larger  apartment,  where  I  found  the  table  smoking  with 
hot  viands,  and  Lilian  and  her  mother  ready  to  welcome 
me  with  sweet  smiles  and  cordial  salutations. 

"And  how  did  you  rest?"  inquired  Mrs.  Huntly. 

"Well  !"  I  answered.  "T  slept  soundly,  I  assure  you, 
or  I  should  have  made  my  appearance  ere  this." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  my  son,  for  you  needed  rest. 
Lilian  and  I  were  not  so  fortunate;  for  the  unusual 
events  of  last  night  drove  all  slumber  from  us,  and  we 
could  do  nothing  but  talk  of  you  and  Charles." 

"  I  fear  our  presence,  then,"  said  I,  smiling,  "  has 
robbed  you  of  a  sweet  night's  rest  ?" 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  returned  Lilian,  archly.  "  Your 
presence  has  been  more  beneficial  than  sleep,  I  assure 
you — and  never  did  I  behold  daylight  with  more  joy." 

"That  you  might  escape  from  your  reflections — eh! 
^Lilian?" 

■  ,  "'£hat  I  might  see  you  again,"  she  rejoined,  with  one 
01  her  sweetest  smiles. 

"  A  kiss  for  that !"  cried  I,  gaily. 
And  I  took  it. 

The  morning  meal  passed  off  cheerfully  with  all  save 
Charles,  who  appeared  somewhat  gloomy,  at  times  ab- 
stracted, and  rarely  spoke. 


i6o  THEY  MEET  AT  LAST. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Charley?"  inquired  I.  "One 
would  look  to  see  you  cheerful,  if  not  gay  ;  and  yet  you 
are  silent  and  thoughtful."  ■      "  1,^.  answered 

"I  feel  a  little  depressed  in  spirits,  he  answered. 
"But  never  mind  me.    I  shall  be  myself  m  time.  At 

present  I  am  soberly  inclined."   

"Fatigue,  perhaps?"  suggested  his  mother. 
"  My  father  !"  he  answered,  solemnly. 
Instantly  a  dead  silence  prevailed,  and   the  tears 
sprung  to  the  eyes  of  both  Mrs.  Huntly  and  Lilian. 

"  But  come/'  added  Charles,  after  a  pause,  "do  not 
let  me  make  you  sad,  my  friends!  ^^-^^^f^^, 
father  bitterly,  long  ere  I  heard  of  his  death.  You  must 
remember  my  cause  for  grief  is  recent. 

™^Alas!"  sighed  Mrs  Huntly  ;  "we  all  mourn  him 
still,  and  ever  must." 

Another  eloomy  silence  succeedea. 
"I  saw  Teddy  this  morning,"  at  length  pursued 
Char  es  anxious  to  divert  our  thoughts  from  the  painful 
diannel  into  which  his  remarks  had  drawn  them,  "and 
I  d"sDatihed  him  to  Prairie  Flower,  requesting  the 
presencelf  herself  and  friends.   She  and  they  will  soon 

""^  "Tnd  I  "  added  Lilian,  "  have  seen  Eva.  It  would 
have  done  you  good  to  have  witnessed  her  surprise  and 
delight,  on\ear1ng  the  joyful  ''dings  I  imparted.  I  ex- 
nect  her  here  every  moment.  Ha!  she  is  here  "ow  . 
?he  added  rising  ;  "  I  know  her  step  ;"  and  hastening  to 
the  door'she  "Inducted  the  object  of  her  remarks  and 
Madame  Mortimer  into  the  apartment. 

I  hurriedly  arose  and  advanced  to  meet  them 
"Oh  I  am  so  rejoiced  to  see  you,  Francis!  criea 
Eva  soringing  forward  and  extending  both  hands 
wikh  Tsfool  warmly.    "  This  is  a  joyful  surprise 

'"'^"  And  I,"  said  Madame  Mortimer,  coming  up  "1,  too 
not  idly  spoken. 


THEY   MEET   AT  LAST. 


i6i 


"  I  feel  myself  most  fortunate  and  happy  in  having 
such  friends;'  I  replied,  emphasizing  the  last  word  ; 
"  and,  I  assure  you,  I  am  as  rejoiced  to  meet  them  as  they 
can  be  to  see  me.  But,  come  !  let  me  present  you  to  my 
long  lost  friend  !"  and  turning  to  Huntly,  who  had 
risen  from  his  seat,  I  introduced  both  mother  and  daugh- 
ter together.  . 

HunMy  bowed  low  to  each,  and,  with  unusual  em- 
barrassment for  him,  said  it  gave  him  extreme  pleasure 
to  meet  with  those  whom  he  had  seen  years  before,  in  a 
moment  of  peril,  and  of  whom  he  had  since  heard  so 

much  from  me.  r  t-  i_ 

I  particularly  noted  the  countenance  of  Eva,  who  now 
beheld  Charles  Huntly  for  the  first  time.  As  I  presented 
her,  she  turned  pale,  then  crimsoned  to  the  eyes,  then 
took  a  faltering  step  forward,  as  if  to  meet  him,  but 
finally  paused  and  let  her  eyes  sink  to  the  floor,  seemingly 
greatly  embarrassed. 

Not  so  with  Madame  Mortimer.  With  a  quick  step 
she  instantly  advanced  toward  Charles,  who  met  her 
half  way,  seized  his  proffered  hand,  and  frankly  said,  in 
a  voice  tremulous  with  emotion  : 

*'  God  bless  you,  Charles  Huntly  !  I  am  most  happy 
to  behold  you.  You,  sir,  and  your  friend,  both  strangers 
then,  saved  the  life  of  my  daughter,  at  the  risk  of  your 
own.  You  have  both  had  a  fond  mother's  prayers  for 
your  safety  and  happiness  ever  since  ;  but  until  now  I 
have  never  had  an  opportunity  of  expressing  to  you  in- 
dividually my  most  lasting  obligations  and  she  turned 
away  her  face  to  conceal  the  springing  tears. 

"You  owe  me  no  obligations,"  returned  my  friend 
frankly.  ''If  ever  there  were  any  due,  they  have  long 
since  been  canceled  in  your  kindness  to  those  I  love.  I 
did  but  my  duty  ;  and  if  the  adventure  was  perilous  at 
the  time,  it  certainly  brought  its  own  reward  afterward 
in  a  satisfied  conscience." 

Here  he  rested  his  eyes  upon  Eva,  with  an  expression 
as  of  uncertainty  whether  to  advance  to  her  side  or  re- 
main where  he  was.  At  the  same  time  Eva  looked  up, 
their  eyes  met,  and,  with  a  simultaneous  movement,  each 
approached  and  took  the  other  by  the  hand. 

lO 


l62 


THEY   MEET   AT  LAST. 


**  Oh,  sir  !"  began  Eva,  in  a  timid  voice,  and  then 
paused,  while  her  snowy  hand  trembled  with  agitation. 
Then  making  a  struggle  to  appear  calm,  she  added:  "I 
— I — am  very — very  grateful  ;"  and  the  last  word  died 
away  in  an  almost  inaudible  murmur. 

What  a  perplexing  predicament  for  my  friend  !  Be- 
fore him  stood  the  first  being  he  had  ever  loved,  beyond 
the  love  filial  and  fraternal.  She  stood  before  him,  face 
to  face,  her  hand  trembling  in  his,  and  her  voice  sound- 
ing the  sweet  words  of  a  grateful  heart  in  his  ear.  That 
voice  and  those  words  which  once  would  have  ma4e  him 
frantic  with  rapture  ;  which  once  would  have  sent  the 
hot  blood  to  his  heart,  only  that  it  might  again  leap  in 
burning  streams  through  his  swollen  veins  ;  which  once, 
in  short,  would  have  made  him  the  happiest  of  mortals. 
How  was  it  now.''  Time  and  circumstances  work  great 
changes  in  the  human  heart,  and  my  friend  was  changed 
— at  least  changed  in  that  impassioned  sentiment  he  had 
once  felt  for  the  object  before  him.  He  was  not  cold  and 
indifferent — not  insensible  to  her  lovely  charms  and  no- 
ble virtues.  No  !  he  was  affected— deeply  affected- 
affected  to  tears  by  her  look  and  language.  He  loved 
her  still — but  with  a  modified  love — the  love  of  a  brother 
for  a  sister — the  love  which  is  founded  on  esteem,  for  the 
high  and  noble  qualities  possessed  by  another,  without 
regard  to  mere  personalities.  There  was  no  ardency — 
no  passion.  No !  all  this  was  gone — transferred  to 
another.  Prairie  Flower  alone  held  the  heart  of  Charles 
Huntly. 

"  Miss  Mortimer,"  replied  my  friend — "  or  rather  let 
me  call  you  Eva — I  am  most  happy  to  meet  you ;  and 
feel  it  is  I,  rather  than  you,  who  ought  to  be  grateful,  for 
having  been  permitted  to  do  an  act  which  has  already  re- 
paid me  ten-fold.  I  hold  that  every  virtuous  deed  bears 
with  it  its  own  reward.  Pray,  be  seated,  and  we  will  talk 
further !" 

"Ay,"  chimed  in  Madame  Mortimer,  *'and  you  shall 
give  us,  Charles,  some  of  your  own  adventures.  Lilian 
has  already  told  me  something,  and  I  am  anxious  to  hear 
more.     She  says  you  are  indebted  to  a  beautiful  Indian 


THEY  MEET   AT  LAST, 


163 


maiden  for  both  life  and  liberty— certainly  a  heavy  obli- 
gation on  your  part."  ,      ,      1       .  1 

"  I  feel  it  to  be  so,"  rejoined  Huntly,  changing  color. 

"And  who  is  this  Indian  girl  ?  and  to  what  tribe  does 
she  belong?    The  daughter  of  some  great  chief,  I  sup- 
pose—for in  all  novels,  you  know,  the  heroine  must  be  - 
some  great  personage,   either  acknowledged   or  un- 
known." 

"But  you  forget,  madam,"  returned  Huntly,  smiling, 
"that  the 'heroine  in  this  case,  as  you  are  pleased  to  term 
Prairie  Flower,  is  an  individual  in  real  life  ;  whereas  in 
novels  the  heroine  alone  exists  in  the  imagination  of  the 
author,  and  can  be  whatever  he  may  see  proper  to  make 
her.  Therefore  you  should  not  be  surprised  should  she 
turn  out  to  be  some  humble  individual." 

"  Well,"  answered  Madame  Mortimer,  "  all  romance 
is  much  alike,  whether  imaginary  or  real  ;  for  the  novel- 
ist, if  true  to  his  calling,  must  draw  his  scenes  from  real 
life  ;  and  hence  I  may  be  permitted  to  suppose  the  hero- 
ine in  this  case  a  person  of  some  consequence." 

"  And  so  she  may  be  for  what  we  know  to  the  con- 
trary," said  I,  joining  in.  ,     .     ,      v»     1  ^ 

"  And  do  you  not  know  who  she  is,  then  ?  askea 
Madame  Mortimer. 

"  We  know  nothing  positively." 

"  Is  she  not  the  daughter  of  a  chief  ?" 

"No." 

"  Is  she  beautiful  ?"  asked  Eva,  giving  me  a  peculiar 

look.  .         ^,    1  V 

"  Very  beautiful,"  replied  I,  glancing  at  Charles,  who 
colored  and  seemed  a  little  confused. 

Both  Eva  and  her  mother  caught  the  expression  of 
Huntly's  countenance,  and  the  latter  said  : 

"Then  perhaps  Charles  has  lost  his  heart  to  her?" 

Eva  turned  to  him  quickly,  with  a  searching  glance, 
and  immediately  added  : 

"  I  believe  he  nas— for  he  changes  color  at  the  mere 
mention  of  her  name ;"  and  her  own  features,  as  she 
spoke,  grew  a  shade  paler. 

"  One  has  his  heart  that  is  nearer  at  hand,  observed 


164 


THEY  MEET   AT  LAST 


Lilian,  who,  with  her  mother,  had  been  standing  a  silent 
spectator  of  what  had  passed. 

"  I  pray  you  drop  this  jesting  !"  said  Huntly,  with  an 
effort  to  appear  careless  and  unconcerned. 

"  Nay,  but  I  must  know  more  of  this  singular  person- 
age," pursued  Madame  Mortimer,  ^'for  I  feel  deeply  in- 
terested  in  her.    A  girl  that  could  and  would  do  what 
she  has  done,  can  be  no  ordinary  being." 
So  think  I,"  added  Mrs.  Huntly. 

"And  so  you  will  find  her,"  I  rejoined. 

"  I  am  dying  to  see  her,"  said  Lilian. 

"  She  must  have  taken  great  interest  in  the  fate  of 
Charles,  to  seek  him  out  in  captivity,"  observed  Madame 
Mortimer.    "  Is  it  not  so,  Francis  ?" 

"  Her  motto  of  life  is  to  do  all  the  good  she  can,"  I 
answered,  rather  evasively.  "  She  would  take  an  inter- 
est in  any  one  who  chanced  to  be  in  trouble." 

"  God  bless  her,  then,  for  a  true  heart !"  was  the 

response.  .      ^  ^„ 

"But  how  came  she  to  think  of  visiting  Oregon? 

asked  Eva. 

"  We  persuaded  her  to  accompany  us  hither,  I  re- 
plied. "As  she  once  saved  both  our  lives,  and  afterward 
ransomed  Charles  from  slavery,  not  forgetting  that 
night,  which  you  all  remember,  when  she  gave  us  timely 
warning  of  danger,  whereby  much  bloodshed  was 
averted,  I  thought  you  would  like  to  see  and  thank  her." 

"  And  you  were  right,"  said  Lilian.  "  Oh,  Eva,  we 
will  love  her  as  a  sister,  will  we  not  ?" 

"Certainly,"  answered  Eva,  rather  abstractedly,  and 
evidently  not  so  well  pleased  with  the  idea  of  her  being 
present  as  Lilian  ;  "certainly,  we  will  love  her  as  a  sis- 
ter  " 

Could  a  faint,  a  very  faint,  spark  of  jealousy  have 
begun  to  burn  in  her  breast?  I  observed  her  closely,  and 
drew  my  own  conclusions. 

Meantime  Huntly  had  remained  seated,  apparently 
indifferent  to  everything  said.    Was  he  indifferent  ? 

And  why  did  Eva  suddenly  become  so  thoughtful  and 
abstracted  ?  Was  she  thinking  of  Prairie  Flower  ?  and 
did  she  fear  a  rival  in  an  Indian  maiden  ?— for  I  had 
never  intimated  she  was  other  than  an  Indian. 


THEY  MEET  AT  LAST. 


165 


My  design,  as  previously  stated,  was  to  bring  all  par- 
ties together,  and  leave  matters  to  take  their  own  course  ; 
and  I  now  felt  anxious  for  all  the  actors  to  be  on  the 
stage,  that  I  might  witness  the  denouement. 

For  some  time  the  conversation  went  on.  gradually 
changing  from  Prairie  Flower  to  my  friend,  who  was 
called  upon  to  narrate  some  of  his  adventures. 

Anxious  to  entertain  those  present,  and  divert  his 
thoughts  from  other  subjects,  he  began  the  recital  of  a 
thrilling  scene,  in  which  he  was  an  inactive,  though  not 
unconcerned  spectator,  and  had  already  reached  the 
most  exciting  part,  holding  his  listeners  breathless  with 
interest,  when  Teddy  entered  the  apartment  in  haste,  ex- 
claiming :  ,  , 

Your  honor—"  Then  pausing,  as  he  saw  who  were 
present,  and  making  a  low  bow,  he  quickly  added  :  Me 
most  obadient  respicts  to  all  o'  yees,  by  token  I  ve  saan 

vees  afore."  ^„  .      .  t 

Well,  well,  Teddy— have  they  come?    inquired  1, 

impatiently.  ^         .       1  .1.  ^ 

Troth,  and  they  has,  your  honor !  and  that  s  jist 
what  I 's  a-going  to  say,  whin  the  likes  o'  so  many  beau- 
thiful  ladies  put  me  out  a  bit." 

"  And  where  are  they  now,  Teddy  ? 

"  Jist  round  the  corner,  as  ye  may  say."  ^ 

"  Remain  here,  and  I  will  soon  set  Prairie  Flower  be- 
fore you,"  said  I,  addressing  the  others,  who  were  now 
all  excitement  to  behold  my  fair  friend. 

And  I  hurried  from  the  cot,  followed  by  Teddy. 


i66  THE   LONG    LOST  FOUND, 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  LONG  LOST  FOUND. 

^W^'ll  FOUND  Prairie  Flower  seated  upon  her  lit- 
poriY)  company  with  her  Indian  friends, 
pale  and  agitated,  but  looking  more  beauti- 
t^^^;..  ful  than  ever.  She  wore  a  plain,  neat  dress, 
'  without  ornament,  which  fitted  her  person 
/  well,  and  displayed  her  airy,  symmetrical  figure  to  the 
best  advantage.  Her  dark,  glossy  hair  was  braided  and 
arranged,  if  not  a  la  mode,  at  least  in  most  exquisite  taste, 
and  altogether  her  appearance  was  such  as  could  not 
offend  the  searching  gaze  of  the  most  fastidious  critic. 
All  trace  of  the  Indian  was  gone  ;  and  gazing  upon  her 
sweet,  modest  countenance,  one  could  hardly  realize  that 
her  life,  for  the  most  part,  had  been  spent  in  the  wilder- 
ness, among  the  red  children  of  the  forest. 

And  how  fares  my  fair  friend  this  morning  ?"  I  said, 
with  a  smile,  as  I  came  up. 

But  indifferently  well,"  she  answered,  dismounting. 
I  fear  you  did  not  rest  well  last  night." 
"  I  did  not  rest  at  all,"  she  replied.  "  How  could  I 
rest,  sir,  with  such  momentous  thoughts  as  kept  me  com- 
pany ?  Oh,  sir,"  she  added  vehemently,  placing  her  hand 
upon  her  heart,  "  here,  here  were  strange  feelings,  strange 
emotions,  strange  yearnings,  but  all  powerful  as  strange, 
and  they  kept  my  senses  from  slumber.  Every  nerve 
was  then  strained,  and  I  felt  strong.  But  now — I  am 
^eak — very  weak  ;"  and  as  she  spoke,  she  rested  her 
hand  on  the  neck  of  her  little  pony  for  support. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  advancing  to  her  side,  "take  my  arm, 
and  I  will  conduct  you  hence.  It  is  intense  excitement 
which  so  unnerves  you  ;  but  you  must  not  give  way  to 
it.  It  is  necessary,  for  the  present,  that  you  should  be 
calm,  and  not  lose  your  wonted  presence  of  mind." 

And  whither  would  your  conduct  me?"  she  timidly 
inquired. 


THE   LONG    LOST  FOUND. 


67 


"  Within  this  humble  cottage." 

"And  —  and  —  2iYQ~they  there — of— of  whom  you 
spoke  ?"  she  fairly  gasped. 

"  Yes  ;  they  await  your  presence,  to  thank  you  for  all 
your  kindness." 

"  And  do— do— they  know  .?"  she  asked,  emphasizing 
the  last  word,  clasping  my  hand,  and  fixing  her  dark 
eyes,  v/ith  a  singular  expression,  upon  mine. 

"They  know  nothing,  Prairie  Flower,  but  that  you 
are  the  author  of  many  noble  deeds,  for  which  they  are 
your  debtors,  and  for  which  they  are  anxious  to  return 
you  heart-felt  thanks.  My  friend  and  I  thought  it  best 
to  bring  you  together  without  even  hinting  our  sur- 
mises." 

"  It  was  a  happy  thought  in  you,"  she  replied,  with 
some  reassurance  ;  "  I  am  glad  you  did  so  ;  I  am  glad 
they  know  nothing  ;  and  I  will  try  to  be  calm  and  appear 
indifferent.  But,  sir,  believe  me,  this  is  a  great  trial  !  I 
have  been  used  to  danger  all  my  life  ;  I  have  even  stood 
upon  the  field  of  carnage,  where  the  fierce  battle  raged, 
and  the  deadly  missiles  were  whirling  past  me,  fairly 
hissing  in  my  ear,  and  there  have  striven  to  succor  the 
wounded;  I  have  had  my  life  in  danger  many  times, 
when  I  believed  every  moment  would  be  my  last  ;  I  have, 
for  many  years,  seen  much  hardship  and  peril  ;  but  never, 
sir,  a  moment  like  the  present  ;  never  a  time  when  I  felt 
my  soul  shrink  within  me,  and  refuse  to  do  my  bidding 
as  now — never  a  time  when  I  had  less  self-command  and 
felt  I  needed  it  more.  I  am  about  to  enter  the  presence 
of  those  whose  blood,  perchance,  runs  in  my  veins  ;  and 
the  doubt,  the  uncertainty,  the  hopes  and  fears,  which  are 
based  upon  this  bare  possibility,  are  mighty  in  their 
strength.  Oh,  sir,  such  wild,  strange  feelings  as  rush 
over  me  at  the  thought,  are  beyond  the  utterance  of 
mortal  tongue — words  could  not  express  them.  But  I 
will  say  no  more.  I  keep  them  waiting.  I  will  nerve 
myself.    I  am  ready." 

"  But  perhaps  your  friends  here  had  better  wait  till 
this  first  interview  is  over." 

"  True,"  she  added,  "  they  must  not  witness  it  ;"  and 


i68  THE   LONG    LOST  FOUND. 


turning,  she  addressed  a  few  words  tc  them,  and  then 
signified  that  she  was  ready. 

At  this  moment  my  eye  fell  upon  several  ot  the 
villagers,  who  were  sauntering  toward  us,  attracted,  some 
of  them  perhaps  by  curiosity,  and  others  by  the  news  oi 
my  arrival.  As  I  did  not  care  to  see  any  at  present,  1 
said  a  word  to  Prairie  Flower,  and  we  hastened  our  steps 
to  the  threshold  of  the  cottage.  ^      .  ,     r  i 

"  Courage  !"  I  whispered,  and  led  her  m  with  a  falter 

^"^AU  eyes  were  instantly  fastened  upon  her,  and  the 
united  mental  comment  was,  "How  beautiful  !"  Prairie 
Flower,  pale  and  trembling,  could  not  return  their  gaze, 
but  sunk  her  own  to  the  ground. 

My  friends,"  I  said,  "  I  herewith  present  you  oui 
fair  benefactress,  to  whom  two  of  us  at  least,  if  not^all 
present,  are  indebted  for  our  lives.  This  is  the  Prairie 
Flower  of  whom  you  have  so  often  heard  ;  and,  taking 
a  slight  liberty  with  her  name.  I  may  be  permitted  to 
term  her  the  Flower  of  the  Wilderness." 

As  I  spoke,  each  of  the  ladies  rose  and  advanced  to 
meet  her,  but  Lilian  was  the  first  to  gain  her  side.  With 
a  quick  step  she  came  forward,  and,  taking  the  inactive 
hands  of  Prairie  Flower  in  her  own,  said,  in  a  frank, 
affectionate  tone  : 

"  Welcome,  sweet  maiden,  to  the  home  ot  those  wtio, 
already  love  you  for  your  many  virtues  !  I  have—" 

At  this  moment  Prairie  Flower  raised  her  eyes  to 
those  of  the  speaker,  whose  countenance  suddenly 
changed  to  a  look  of  bewildered  surprise  ;  and  taking  a 
step  backward,  she  clasped  her  hands  and  ejaculated  : 
"  Good  heavens  !  how  remarkable  !" 
"The  charm  works,"  whispered  I  to  my  friend,  who 
had  silently  joined  me. 

He  pressed  my  hand  nervously,  but  said  nothing.  ^ 
"  Yes  welcome  to  our  humble  abode.  Prairie  Flower, 
said  Mrs.  Huntly,  who,  her  gaze  riveted  upon  the  fair 
maiden,  had  not  as  yet  noticed  the  surprise  and  agitation 
of  her  daughter.  "  Eh  !  what !  how  !"  she  added  the  next 
moment,  as  the  dark  eyes  of  Prairie  Flower  in  turn 
rested  upon  hers  ;  and  she  glanced  quickly  toward  bva, 


THE   LONG   LOST  FOUND. 


169 


Madame  Mortimer  and  Lilian,  and  then  back  again  upon 
Prairie  Flower,  as  if  uncertain  what  to  think  or  how  to 
act 

"I  thank  you — for — for — your  kindness!"  faltered 
Prairie  Flowei,  again  dropping  her  eyes  to  the  ground, 
and  evidently  scarcely  able  to  support  herself  from 
sinking 

At  the  moment  Mrs.  Huntly  spoke,  Eva  had  extended 
her  hand  within  a  step  of  Prairie  Flower,  and  her  lips 
were  just  parted  to  utter  a  w^elcome,  when  the  same  look, 
which  had  surprised  the  former,  arrested  her  motions  and 
held  her  spell-bound,  as  if  suddenly  transformed  to  a 
statue  of  marble. 

But  it  was  Madame  Mortimer  who  now  fixed  my 
whole  attention.  She  had  come  up  a  little  behind  the 
others,  with  an  expression  of  patronizing,  benevolent 
curiosity  on  her  fine,  matronly  features.  The  first  glance 
at  Prairie  Flower  had  changed  the  idle  look  of  curiosity 
to  one  of.  surprise  at  her  maiden  beauty  and  the  absence 
of  that  distinguishing  mark  of  the  Indian  which  she  had 
expected  to  find.  The  next  moment  she  evidently  be- 
came struck  with  her  strong  resemblance  to  Eva,  which 
had  so  surprised  each  of  the  others  ;  and  a  sudden  vague, 
wild  thought — a  suspicion — a  something  undefinable — 
rushed  over  her  half  bewildered  brain  ;  and  her  features 
grew  ashy  pale,  her  bosom  heaved,  and  her  very  lips 
turned  white  with  internal  emotions. 

But  it  was  when  Prairie  Flower  spoke  that  you 
should  have  seen  her.  There  was  something  in  that 
voice  that  seemed  to  thrill  every  nerve,  and  then  take 
away  all  power  of  motion — suspend  every  animal  func- 
tion. At  the  first  sound,  she  leaned  a  little  forward,  one 
hand,  unconsciously  as  it  were,  stretched  toward  the  - 
speaker,  and  the  other  instinctively  clasping  her  fore- 
head;  while  the  blood,  rushing  upward,  crimsoned  her 
features,  and  then,  retreating  to  her  heart,  left  them  paler 
than  ever.  Her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  seemed  starting  from 
their  sockets,  her  heaving  breast  ceased  its  throbbing, 
and  she  stood  transfixed  to  the  ground,  motionless  and 
mute,  apparently  without  life,  or  only  that  life  of  sur- 
prised and  bewildered  inaction  which  the  master  of  the 


1 70 


THE  LONG   LOST  FOUND. 


passions  sometimes  transfuses  into  the  otherwise  in- 
animate object  of  his  creation.  It  was  a  strange  and  im- 
pressive picture,  and  one  that  Avould  have  made  the  fame 
and  fortune  of  any  artist  who  could  have  accurately 
transferred  it  to  canvas. 

A  momentary  silence  prevailed,  a  deathly  silence,  that 
seemingly  had  in  it  the  awful  calm  preceding  the  fright- 
ful tempest.  For  a  brief  space  no  one  moved,  no  one 
spoke,  and,  I  may  add,  no  one  breathed  ;  for  the  internal 
excitement  had  suspended  respiration.  There  they  stood, 
as  I  have  described  them,  a  wonderful  group—sweet 
Prairie  Flower  as  the  central  figure  and  object  of  interest, 
the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  -and,  if  I  may  be  permitted  the 
expression,  the  very  soul  of  all  thought.  Just  behind 
Prairie  Flower  stood  Huntly,  my  hand  clasped  in  his  and 
suffering  from  its  pressure. 

Madame  Mortimer  was  the  first  to  move — the  first  to 
break  the  silence.  Suddenly  taking  a  step  forward,  be- 
tween Mrs.  Huntly  and  Eva,  and  clasping  her  hands  be- 
fore her,  her  eyes  still  riveted  upon  Prairie  Flower,  she 
exclaimed,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  that  had  something  se- 
pulchral in  its  sound  : 

"  Merciful  God  !  who  are  you  ?  Speak!  speak!  In 
Heaven's  name,  who  are  you  ?" 

Prairie  Flower  looked  up  wildly,  clasped  her  hands, 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  other,  and  trembled  violently, 
but  made  no  answer. 

"  Who   are  you  ?"  cried  Madame  Mortimer  again. 
For  God's  sake,  speak  !  and  break  this  terrible  spell  of 
painful,  bewildering  uncertainty  !   Speak  !  I  charge  you, 
speak  !" 

But  the  lips  of  Prairie  Flower  gave  forth  no  sound. 
Speak  you  !"  continued  Madame  Mortimer,  wildly, 
appealing  to  me  :  "  Speak  any!  speak  all  !  but  speak  some- 
body !  and  tell  me  I  am  not  in  a  dream— a  dream  from 
which  it  would  be  terrible  to  wake  and  know  it  but  a 
dream  1" 

"You  do  not  dream,"  said  I ;  "and,  I  have  every  rea- 
son to  believe,  are  standing  in  the  presence  of  " 

"  Whom  ?"  she  gasped. 
"  Your  long  lost  daughter  /" 


MOTHER    AND   DAUGHTER,  171 


"  Ah  !"  she  shrieked  :  "  God  of  mercy  !  I  thought  so  !" 
and,  staggering  forward,  she  threw  out  her  arms,  fell 
heavily  upon  the  breast  of  Prairie  Flower,  and  swooned 
in  her  embrace. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

O  describe  minutely  what  occurred  during  the 
first  half  hour  after  this  singular  meeting  be- 
tween mother  and  daughter,  is  wholly  beyond 
my  power — for  I  was  too  much  excited  myself 
to  note  anything  distinctly.  For  a  time  all 
was  uproar  and  confusion— persons  running  to  and  fro, 
calling  for  this  thing  and  that,  and  uttering  exclamations 
of  alarm,  surprise  and  bewilderment. 

Madame  Mortimer  was  borne  in  an  unconscious  state 
to  an  adjoining  apartment,  where  such  restoratives  as 
could  be  had  w^ere  speedily  applied,  for  a  long  time  with- 
out success  ;  while  Prairie  Flower,  more  dead  than  alive, 
was  conducted  to  a  seat  ;  where  Eva,  the  first  alarm  for 
her  mother  over,  flew  to  embrace  her,  to  twine  her  arms 
around  her  neck,  call  her  "Dear,  dear  sister  !"  and  weep 
and  laugh  alternately  as  one  insane. 

Lilian  and  her  mother  seemed  completely  bewildered; 
and  were  now  with  Madame  Mortimer,  and  anon  with 
Prairie  Flower,  aiding  the  recovery  of  the  one,  wonder- 
ing over  the  other,  and  continually  uttering,  ''How 
strange  !  -how  strange  !" 

Charles,  pale  as  a  corpse,  had  sunk  upon  a  seat,  and, 
with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  sat  in  silence  ;  while  I, 
after  running  up  and  down  the  room  several  times,  found 
myself,  much  to  my  surprise,  alone  in  the  center  of  the 
apartment  and  dancing  for  very  joy. 

At  last  everything  began  to  assume  a  more  tranquil 
atid  sane  appearance.    Prairie  Flower  found  vent  to  lier 


'72  MOTHER    AND  DAUGHTER. 


feelings  in  a  flood  of  tears  upon  the  breast  of  Eva,  who, 
as  she  put  in  now  and  then  a  soothing  word,  begging  the 
other  to  be  calm,  mingled  her  own  tears  with  her  sister's; 
while  Lilian  and  her  mother  wept  in  sympathy  of  joy; 
and  my  own  eyes,  by  the  spontaneous  action  of  an  over- 
flowing soul,  would,  in  spite  of  myself,  occasionally  grow 
dim.  Madame  Mortimer,  too,  gradually  regained  her 
senses ;  and,  looking  hurriedly  about  her,  anxiously  in- 
quired for  her  long  lost  daughter.  Prairie  Flower  was 
at  once  conducted  to  her  side,  whither  we  all  followed  to 
witness  the  interview. 

For  something  like  a  minute,  Madame  Mortimer 
gazed  upon  her  daughter  without  speaking,  during  which 
her  features  displayed  all  the  varying  expressions  of  a 
mother's  tender,  yearning  love  for  a  long  lost  child. 
Then  taking  the  hands  of  Prairie  Flower,  she  glanced 
along  the  arms,  and  trembled  like  an  aspen. 

It  is  my  child  !"  at  length  escaped  her  lips,  in  that 
deep  tone  by  which  the  very  soul  gives  utterance  :  "  It  is 
my  child  !  the  long-lost — the  sadly-wept — the  deeply- 
mourned  !  Yes — the  lost  is  found — the  dead  restored  to 
life  !"  Then  pausing,  clasping  her  hands  and  looking 
upward,  she  added  :  ''God  !  all  merciful,  all  wise,  and 
all  just — for  this  I  thank  Thee,  from  the  inner  depths  of 
a  grateful  heart  !  This  moment's  happiness,  oh  God, 
hath  canceled  long  years  of  suffering  and  sorrow  ;  and 
henceforth  the  study  of  my  life  shall  be  to  glorify  Thy 
holy  name." 

During  this  brief,  solemn,  but  heart-felt  offering  of 
gratitude  to  the  Great  Author  of  the  Universe,  Prairie 
Flower  gradually  sunk  upon  her  knees  beside  the  bed  on 
which  the  speaker  was  lying,  and,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands,  appeared  to  be  lost  in  silent  devotion.'  Then 
she  arose,  and,  gazing  upon  Madame  Mortimer,  with  a 
look  of  ineffable  affection,  she  uttered  the  single  word 
"  Mother !"  threw  herself  upon  the  breast  of  the  latter, 
was  strained  to  her  heart,  and  the  tears  of  both  mingled 
together. 

It  was  a  touching  scene. 

"  And  now,  my  sweet  child,"  said  Madame  Mortimer 
pressing  her  lips  warmly  to  the  other's,  "  my  long  lost 


MOTHER    AND   DAUGHTER,  m 


Evaline  Mortimer— for  by  that  name,  which  you  bore  in 
infancy,  you  must  lienceforth  be  known— tell  me  some- 
thing of  yourself  ?  and  how  you  came  to  be  found  among 
the  Indians  ?"  ,         ,  . 

Prairie  Flower— or  Evaline,  as  I  will  hereafter  term 
her— started,  turned  pale,  and  sighed  heavily,  but  did  not 
reply  At  once  I  comprehended  her  thoughts  and  hast- 
ened to  relieve  her ;  for  I  saw  in  her  look  a  secret  dread, 
lest  the  unrevealed  secret  in  her  possession  might  even 
now  dash  the  cup  of  joy  from  her  lips,  by  proving  her 
the  child  of  another. 

"  She  knows  but  little  of  her  own  history,  I  began  ; 
and  then  I  went  on  to  recount  our  first  suspicions  as  to 
whom  she  might  be,  and  what  had  followed,  up  to  her 
finding  the  hidden  box,  which  probably  contained  a  state- 
ment of  the  facts,  but  which  she,  for  reasons  explained, 
had  not  yet  examined.  .      ,  ,  i 

"  Alas  "  sighed  Evaline,  "  and  that  is  what  troubles 
me  now  l'  I  fear  there  may  have  been  some  mistake; 

and  if,  oh  God  !  there  " 

"  Give  yourself  no  uneasiness,  my  child  !  interrupted 
Madame  Mortimer;  ''for  you  are  my  child  I  feel  and 
know  •  and,  for  my  own  satisfaction,  I  would  never  seek 
other  proof  than  what  I  have  found,  your  likeness  to 
Eva,  and  a  mother's  yearnings.  But  if  you  have  any 
doubt,  examine  your  left  arm,  and  you  there  will  find  a 
scar  in  the  form  of  a  quarter  moon,  which  was  the  result 
of  an  accident  to  Evaline  Mortimer  in  her  infancy. 

Evaline  started,  and  hurriedly  sought  for  the  proof. 
We  all  pressed  forward  to  examine  the  arm.  There,  sure 
enouo-hf  lust  below  the  elbow,  the  identical  scar  could  be 
traced-dim,  it  is  true,  but  still  the  scar  of  the  quarter 

"^^E^valine  gazed  upon  it  for  a  moment,  pale  and  faint 
ivith  ioyful  emotions  ;  and  then,  turning  her  soft,  dark 
eyes  above,  with  the  sublime  look  of  a  saint,  and  clasp- 
ing her  hands,  she  said,  solemnly  : 

"  God,  I  thank  Thee !"  .  ^ 

"  My  sister— my  sweet,  long  lost  sister  !     said  Eva, 
affectionately,  gently  twining  her  arms  around  the  neck 


MOTHER   AND  DAUGHTER. 


of  the  other  and  gazing  upward  also  ;  "  I,  too,  thank 
God  for  this  !" 

Evaline  turned,  clasped  the  other  in  her  arms,  and 
the  beautiful  twin  sisters  wept  in  each  other's  embrace. 
_  "What  a  singular  meeting  is  this!"  observed  Mrs. 
Huntly  to  Madame  Mortimer,  who  now,  completely  re- 
covered, arose  from  the  bed.  "And  how  remarkable 
that  both  you  and  I  should  have  a  long  lost  child  re- 
stored to  us  at  the  same  time  !" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  other,  "  God  sometimes  works  in 
wonders,  and  this  is  wonderful  !  But  not  the  least  re- 
markable of  all  is  the  fact,  that  some  years  since  your 
son  saved  the  life  of  my  daughter,  and  subsequently  mv 
daughter  saved  the  life  of  your  son— though  each  at  the 
time  wholly  unknown  to  the  other,  with  no  apparent 
connection  between  the  two  striking  events.  The  good 
we  do  returns  to  us,  as  the  evil  of  our  lives  often  falls 
heavily  upon  our  heads.  I  have  experienced  both  ;"  and 
she  sighed  heavily.  "But  come,  mv  daughter,"  she 
added,  turning  to  Evaline,  "you  have  ^friends  with  you 
whom  we  have  long  kept  waiting.  AVe  must  now  enter- 
tain them,  or  they  will  think  themselves  slighted,  and 
with  good  reason.  When  everything  is  properly  ar- 
ranged and  settled,  we  will  have  those  secret  documents 
produced  and  hear  your  tale." 

As  she  spoke,  she  led  the  way  to  the  larger  apart- 
ment. &  F 

"Charley,"  I  whispered,  "  I  fear  we  have  forgotten  to 
congratulate  Prairie  Flower  on  the  happy  termination  of 
this  interview  and  change  of  name  !" 

He  pressed  my  hand  and  answered  : 

"You  must  be  spokesman,  then— for  at  present  I  am 
unable  to  express  my  feelings." 

"  Be  it  so— -but  you  must  accompany  me  ;"  and  ad- 
vancing to  Prairie  Flower,  I  took  her  hand  and  said  : 

"I  give  you  joy,  Evaline  Mortimer  !  and  so  does  my 
friend  here,  though  at  present  too  bashful  to  say  it." 

Both  Charles  and  Evaline  blushed  and  became  em- 
barrassed. But  quickly  recovering  herself,  the  latter 
returned  : 

"  I  thank  you— thank  you  both— from  my  heart  \ 


MOTHER    AND    DAUGHTER,  '75 

Butfor  you,  this  might  never  have  been  and  her  eyes 
instantly  filled  with  grateful  tears.    _  mio-ht 

"  But  for  you,  dear  Evalme,"  rejoined  I,  we  might 
never  have  been  here.  The  obligation  is  on  our  side- 
we  are  the  debtors."  ,        ,  .  , 

-Prairie  Flower,"  began  Huntly,  taking  her  dis- 
engaged hand  and  making  an  effort  to  command  himself 
-Sor  rather,  I  should  say,  Evaline-I-I— Well,  you 
understand  !    Imagine  all  I  would  say-for  just  now  I 

^Bravo!  Chfrley  !"  cried  I,  laughing  and  giving  him 
a  friendly  slap  on  the  shoulder.  -  Bravo,  my  dear  fellow  ! 
Spoken  like  yourself  !"  r  v    i    ^  . 

Hush  !"  he  returned,  with  a  gesture  of  displeasure  , 
"  do  not  jest  with  me  now,  Frank  !" 

Meantime  I  noticed  that  Eva  and  Lilian  watched  the 
features  of  both  Evaline  and  Charles  closely,  and  then 
whispered  to  each  other,  and  smiled,  and  again  looked 
earnestly  at  the  two. 

"  The  secret  is  out,"  thought  I. 

At  this  moment  Madame  Mortimer,  observing  us 
together,  approached  and  addressed  my  friend,  with  a 

bland  smile :  ,     ,      .        r  ^u-  vf« 

''Said  I  not,  Charles,  th^t  the  heroine  of  this  lite- 
romance  must  necessarily  be  a  personage  of  conse- 

^^^'^And  I  am  rejoiced  that  your  words  are  verified," 

^^^'  Tha'i^k^  you !  and  thank  God  that  I  have  found 
them  verified  in  a  way  1  little  expected !  But  all 
heroines,  you  know,  must  fall  in  love !  she  added, 
lausrhin^.    "  How  is  it  in  the  present  case,  eh  ? 

"  It  turns  out  on  the  most  approved  plan,  I  answered, 
pointedly,  glancing  at  both  Charles  and  Evaline  who 
j^idging  from  their  looks,  wished  themselves  for  the 
moment  anywhere  but  where  they  stood. 

- 1  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it,"  rejoined  the  good  dame. 

"And  how  is  it  with  you,  Eva?"  I  asked,  playfully. 

"  Why  I  suppose  I  must  resign  all  pretensions,  she 
replied,  in'her  wonted  light  tone.  ''  Of  course  I  was  anx- 
ious to  make  a  conquest— as  what  young  lady  is  not  ? 


176 


MOTHER    AND  DAUGHTER. 


But  I  see  there  is  no  chance  for  me,"  she  pursued  glanc- 
ing slyly  at  my  friend  ;  "and  so  I  will  just  make  a  virtue 
of  necessity,  pretend  I  don't  care  anything  about  it,  and, 
heigh-ho  !  look  somewhere  else,  with  the  old  proverb, 
'Better  luck  next  time.'  Ay,"  she  added,  springing  to  the 
blushing  Evaline,  and  imprinting  a  kiss  on  her  sweet  lips, 
"  I  am  too  happy  in  finding  a  sister,  to  mourn  long  for  a 
lover — more  especially  if  a  certain  somebody  (again  glanc- 
ing at  Charles,)  has  any  design  of  becoming  a  relation." 
"  Well  said  !"  I  rejoined.  "  And  now,  Charley — " 
"Hist  !"  he  exclaimed,  interrupting  and  dragging  me 
away.  Come,"  he  added,  "  let  us  take  a  stroll  ;"  and 
arm-in-arm  we  quitted  the  cottage. 

Considerable  of  a  crowd  had  already  collected  around 
our  Indian  friends,  and  were  listening  to  a  story  from 
Teddy,  who,  as  he  privately  expressed  himself  to  me, 
"  Was  in  all  the  glory  of  making  the  spalpeens  belave 
himsilf  and  us  the  heroes  of  a  hundred  mighty  fights,  and 
battles,  and  scrimmages,  and  hair-length  escapes,  and 
thim  things." 

Among  the  number  present  I  recognized  several 
of  my  old  acquaintances,  who  appeared  much  de- 
lighted to  see  me,  and  to  whom  I  introduced  my  long  lost 
friend. 

After  the  usual  commonplace  observations  were  over, 
I  turned  to  Teddy,  and  gave  him  instructions  to  conduct 
the  Indians  into  the  cottage  forthwith,  and  then  see  to 
having  their  horses  v/ell  taken  care  of. 

This  done,  Huntly  and  I  sauntered  down  through  the 
village,  to  note  tlie  improvements,  and  talk  over  the  im- 
portant events  of  the  last  few  hours. 

As  Lilian  had  said  I  would,  I  found  the  village  of 
Oregon  City  greatly  altered  for  the  better,  and  that  it  had 
already  begun  to  assume  the  appearance  of  a  thriving  set- 
tlement. During  the  past  season  there  had  been  a  large 
influx  of  population  from  the  East,  the  effects  of  which 
were  everywhere  visible  in  new  dwellings  and  workshops. 
Some  three  or  four  merchants  had  come  on  with  goods, 
opened  stores  and  were  now  doing  a  thriving  business, 
in  disposing  of  their  commodities  at  the  most  extravagant 
prices.    A  grist-mill  and  saw-mill  had  also  been  erected 


MOTHER    AND   DAUGHTER.  i77 


on  the  Willamette,  and  were  now  in  active  operation — 
the  former  grinding  out  the  staff  of  life,  and  the  latter 
supplying  such  of  the  settlers  as  desired  habitations  super- 
ior to  log  cabins  with  the  necessary  materials  for  more 
finished  building.  Here  and  there  were  the  workshops 
of  the  carpenter,  blacksmith,  saddler,  shoemaker  and 
tailor— and,  in  short,  everything  necessary  apparently 
to  a  business  place. 

Strolling  down  to  the  Willamette,  we  halted  upon  a 
bluff  overlooking  the  romantic  stream,  and,  as  chance 
would  have  it,  upon  the  very  spot  where  I  had  offered 
my  hand  to  Lilian. 

"  Here,  Charley,"  said  I,  "  is  ground  which  to  me  is 
sacred.    Can  you  not  guess  from  what  cause  ?" 

He  only  answered  by  pressing  my  arm  and  heaving  a 
deep  sigh. 

"  Come,"  added  I,  smiling,  "  a  wager  I  can  guess  your 
thoughts  !" 
**Well?" 

"  You  are  thinking  of  Evaline." 
He  changed  color  and  sighed  : 
"  Well  ?" 

"  And  now  you  begin  to  have  doubts  that  all  may  not 
terminate  as  you  desire  !" 

"  You  are  good  at  guessing,"  he  rejoined,  gating  sol- 
emnly down  upon  the  current  below. 

"Courage,  man  !"  rejoined  I.  "  Never  despair  on  the 
point  of  victory  !" 

"Ah  I"  he  sighed  ;  "  if  I  could  be  assured  of  that." 

"  Assured,  Charley  !  What  more  assurance  would 
you  have?  She  loves  you;  I  will  vouch  for  that  ;  and 
now  that  the  mystery  hanging  over  her  early  life  is 
cleared  up,  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  be  yourself  and 
ask  her  hand." 

"  Do  you  think  so  .?"  he  cried,  suddenly  confronting 
me  with  an  eager  look.    "  Do  you  think  so,  Frank  ?" 

"  Do  I  think  so  ?"  I  repeated.  "  Why,  where  is  your 
wonted  assurance  ?  Do  I  think  so  ?  No  !  I  do  not  think 
—I  know  !" 

"  But  I— I— somehow — I  have  my  misgivings." 
**  Pshaw,-  my  friend — love's  misgivings  only.    If  you 
II 


'78  MOTHER    AND  DAUGHTER. 


had  not  these,  I  should  put  it  down  as  a  solemn  fact  that 
you  did  not  love.  She  has  her  misgivings,  too — but  they 
spring  from  the  same  source  as  yours,  and  amount  to  ex- 
actly the  same  thing — that  is,  nothing.  Why,  how  you 
have  changed  !  You  are  as  timid  as  a  schoolboy  at  his 
first  public  declamation,  and  tremble  more  in  the  pres- 
ence of  one  beautiful  being,  than  you  did  in  the  clutches 
of  a  fierce  banditti,  Throv/  aside  this  foolish  bashful- 
ness,  and  act  like  a  sensible  fellow  !  There  is  nothing 
so  very  alarming  in  telling  a  young  maiden  you  love 
and  adore  her,  when  you  once  set  yourself  about  it.  I 
have  tried  it,  and  speak  from  experience.  Once,  I  re- 
member, you  talked  the  matter  of  matrimony  over  as  de- 
liberately as  if  making  a  bargain  and  sale — purchasing 
or  transferring  property." 

"Ay,"  he  answered,  musingly,  ''but  it  was  merely 
talk  then — now  it  is  quite  a  different  thing.  If — if — she 
should  refuse  " 

''Nonsense!"  interrupted  I,  laughing;  and  then  I 
added,  imitating  him  :  "  If — if— you  should  refuse, 
why  " 

"  Cease  !"  he  exclaimed,  almost  angrily.  "  Why  will 
you  be  ever  jesting,  Frank?" 

"  That  I  may  bring  you  to  sober  earnest,  Charley." 

In  like  conversation  we  Wxiiled  away  an  hour  or  two, 
and  then  returned  to  the  cottage — Huntly  in  a  better 
flow  of  spirits  than  I  had  seen  him  for  many  a  day. 

The  news  of  our  arrival — the  restoration  of  a  long 
lost  daughter  to  the  arms  of  her  mother— together  with 
exaggerated  and  marvellous  reports  of  the  whole  affair 
— had  already  made  the  dwelling  of  Mrs.  Huntly  a  place 
of  attraction  to  the  villagers,  whom  we  here  found  col- 
lected in  goodly  numbers  of  both  sexes.  In  fact  the 
house  was  thronged  throughout  the  day,  and  both  Hunt- 
ly and  myself  were  kept  busy  in  recounting  our  exploits 
to  curious  and  eager  listeners. 

Night,  however,  came  at  last,  and  with  its  approach 
departed  our  visitors,  much  to  our  relief  and  gratifica- 
tion. 


UNRAVELLING   A  MYSTERY. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


UNRAVELLING  A  MYSTERY. 


T  was  about  an  hour  after  nightfall,  that,  every- 
tiling  having   become  quiet,  we   formed  a 
pleasant  circle  before  a  bright  fire,  in  the 
dwelling  of  Mrs.  Huntly,  to  hear  the  tale  of 
Evaline  Mortimer. 
Throughout  the  day,  all  had  been  too  busy  in  enter- 
taining guests  to  attend  to  private  affairs  ;  but  now  the 
transient  visitors  had  departed,  and  none  were  by  to 
listen  save  those  most  deeply  interested. 

Evaline,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  had  managed  to  steal 
away,  for  an  hour,  during  which  she  had  opened  her 
"treasure-box,"  as  she  termed  it,  wherein  she  had  found 
a  parchment  in  the  hand-writing  of  Great  Medicine, 
whose  contents  she  had  eagerly  devoured,  and  the  sub- 
stance of  which,  together  with  what  she  knew  of  herself, 
she  was  now  about  to  lay  before  us. 

"Come,"  said  Madame  Mortimer,  after  some  trifling 
conversation  had  passed  :  "  Come,  dear  Evaline,  now  for 
the  romance  of  your  life  1  We  are  all  eager  for  the 
story." 

"  And  when  I  have  told  it,"  said  Evaline  in  reply, 
smiling  sweetly,  "  I  shall  have  told  a  tale  to  which  no 
mortal  ear  has  ever  before  listened,  and  a  portion  of 
which  has  been  unknown  to  myself  till  within  the  last 
few  hours.  I  have  examined  the  record  of  Great  Medi- 
cine, and  find  much  therein  I  did  not  know  before  ;  but 
still,  with  all  the  knowledge  gained  therefrom,  I  should 
have  remained  ignorant  of  the  most  important  period  of 
my  history— important  to  me  at  least— but  for  this  provi- 
dential meeting  with  my  dear  mother  and  sister— the 
former  of  whom  can  perhaps  put  the  connecting  link 
between  what  I  know  and  my  birth. 

"As  the  narration  on  the  whole  is  rather  discon- 
nected, I  will  tell  the  story  in  my  own  way,  and  thus  in 


•So         UNRAVELLING   A  MYSTERY. 

a  more  direct  form  bring  to  bear  all  the  knowledge  I 

LTbeSer    ^"'^  '"-^^^  ^"'^  ^-'-e 

the'l^Hn'y^^t  ''"P''<^«t'°°'  ^""^  °f  Medicine,  and 

historv  I^^  ^l  °T  ^''^  associated.  Of  his  krly 
history  I  could  never  learn  anything  authentic.  It  was 
curren  w.th  the  tribe,  that  he  had  come  from  afar,  had 

nanTnf^h         ^  ^'T  '''"'^  ^'^^         the  sole  'rem 

nant  of  his  race.    Some  twelve  or  fifteen  years  prior  to 

fearf/^io  h!,'''^^^''        T  «^>' "ore  than  thirty 
'^'^'^^d^PPea'-ed  among  the  various  tribes  then 

brought  wi?h'v^        ""T-  t«"i'o"es,  and  had 

vian  ihnn      ^1""^''.'"'^^  missionaries  of  the  Mora- 

vian school  who  had  at  once  set  to  work  to  convert  the 
savages  to  the  Christian  faith.  The  influence  of  the  oil 
^^^Z  J  Ti"  Medicine  was  well  advanced  in 

whintT^^"  ^"'^^         vindictive  feelings 

which  the  savages  were  disposed  to  manifest  toward  his 
bv  RHH  ?"  '  ^""^  '°  ^h.ch  they  were  secretly  urged  on 
by  British  agents-this,  as  you  will  bear  in  mindrbeing 
AmPrTr-l°  A  '^"■"■".'^"cement  of  hostilities  betweeS 
was  ^hn.         ^r^'  '^^'^  °f  the  matter 

Ind  threvv  T°''7u'^  ^.^--^f '^ms  of  their  ancestors, 
no  mn.!  '™P'ements  to  take  them  up 

w^.^    K  converts  were  of  various  tribes,  and 

were  subsequently  by  each  tribe  denounced  as  impostors 

death '^"=!'''^^^"'^^P^''"'^"'^^  "''"y  <^^s«  even  to  the 
thAr  T.^  i  "  ^""'y^'-^  ^^'^■■e  obliged  to  abandon 
their  homes  and  seek  safety  in  flight.  These  fugitives, 
by  an  arrangement  of  Great  Medicine,  all  gShered 

a  tribe,  of  which  he  was  appointed  chief,  or  rather  Great 
A  mor  rnf  the  tule  of  chief  was  by  them  abolished. 
A  mode  of  worship  was  then  established,  of  which  sev- 
eral songs,  composed  by  the  missionaries,  formed  a 
striking  feature,  and  made  the  ceremonies  more  impres 
s.ve  than  they  might  otherwise  have  been  "  ^ 

And  these  songs,"  interrupted  I,  "were  the  same 
you  once  translated  to  me 

"  The  same,"  answered  the  sweet  narrator,  "  with  the 


UNRAVELLING    A  MYSTERY, 


i8i 


exception  of  what  they  may  have  gained  or  lost  by  the 
peculiar  dialect  finally  adopted  by  the  new-formed  tribe. 
The  ceremonies  of  this  tribe,"  she  continued,  "  were  not 
all  established  at  once,  and  may  now  differ  somewhat 
from  those  of  the  time  in  question,  though  the  same  1 
believe  in  the  main  features. 

"  As  the  Indian,  by  nature  and  association,  is  peculiarly 
fitted  to  believe  in  the  marvelous,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
some  portion  of  this  reverence  for  the  supernatural 
should  have  clung  to  those  of  the  new  faith  ;  and  in  con- 
sequence of  this.  Great  Medicine  was  supposed  to  be 
invested  with  powers  beyond  the  mere  mortal.  Whether 
he  believed  this  of  himself,  I  am  unable  to  say  ;  but  cer- 
tain it  is,  he  took  care  the  rest  should  think  so  ;  and  ever 
excluding  himself  from  the  tribe,  except  when  his  pres- 
ence was  absolutely  necessary,  he  succeeded  by  his  pecu- 
liarities, eccentricities,  strange  incantations  and  the  like, 
in  drawing  around  himself  a  vail  of  mystery  which  none 
ever  presumed  to  penetrate.  On  the  whole,  he  was 
a  very  strange  being  ;  and  though  all  loved,  all  feared 
him  ;  and  none  ever  knew  for  a  certainty  who  he  was  or 
whence  he  came.  If  one  presumed  to  question  him,  it 
was  only  for  once.  The  silent  look  he  received  from  that 
small,  dark  eye,  w^as  enough.  It  thrilled  and  overawed 
him,  and  he  turned  away,  resolved  never  to  question  him 
again.  Even  I,  whom  he  ever  treated  with  affectionate 
care— who  was  constantly  admitted  to  his  presence  when 
all  others  were  excluded— who  had  the  advantage  of  be- 
ing with  him  in  his  most  meditative  and  communicative 
moods— even  I,  was  never  made  wiser  than  my  compan- 
ions. As  I  have  said  once  before,  he  ever  remained  an 
enigma  without  a  solution.  Like  the  rest,  I  loved  and  I 
feared  him— with  this  difference,  perhaps— that  the 
former  with  me  was  the  stronger  of  the  tw^o  passions. 
But  to  return  from  this  slight  digression. 

"The  tribe,  organized  under  the  control  of  Great 
Medicine,  for  a  time  flourished  well,  and  constantly  in- 
creased by  new  converts  from  the  neighboring  tribes.  But 
this  nearly  proved  its  overthrow.  The  other  tribes  at 
last  became  jealous,  and  declared  if  this  state  of  things 
continued  their  villages  would  become  depopulated.  They 


UNRAVELLING   A  MYSTERY, 


swore  revenge,  and  took  it,  and  most  dire  revenge  it  was. 
They  made  a  descent  upon  their  harmless  friends,  and 
with  ruthless  hands  slew  their  own  relatives,  and  took 
the  missionaries  captives,  whom  they  afterward  put  to 
the  tortures.  It  was  a  terrible  massacre— a  massacre 
without  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  victims,  whose  pecu- 
liar tenets  of  religion  forbade  them  to  fight  even  in  de- 
fense of  their  lives.  At  one  fell  swoop  nearly  all  were  cut 
off.  None,  upon  whom  the  bloodthirsty  assailants  laid 
hands,  were  spared.  Women  and  children— the  infant 
at  the  breast — the  promising  youth  and  tender  maiden — 
the  man  in  the  prime  of  life  and  the  hoary-headed  vet- 
eran :  all  were  alike  victims — all  shared  one  common 
fate — all  found  a  bloody  grave." 

"What  a  terrible  scene  !"  exclaimed  Madame  Morti- 
mer, shuddering. 

Terrible  !  terrible  !"  echoed  Lilian  and  Eva. 

''And  how  many  do  you  suppose  perished?"  asked 
Mrs.  Huntly. 

"  I  cannot  say,"  answered  Evaline.  "  All  I  know  is, 
that  only  a  few  escaped — some  half  a  dozen,  I  believe — 
among  whom  was  Great  Medicine,  They  fled,  fast  and 
far,  to  another  part  of  the  wilderness,  but  still  firm  in 
that  faith  by  which  they  had  been  so  sorely  tried.  When 
hundreds  of  miles  had  been  placed  between  them  and 
their  fierce  enemies,  they  paused  in  their  flight,  and, 
selecting  a  pleasant  spot,  erected  a  few  huts,  and  con- 
tinued their  devotions  as  before.  Here  they  were  visited 
by  other  tribes,  who,  knowing  nothing  of  their  history, 
and  struck  with  their  peculiarities  and  mode  of  worship, 
treated  them  with  great  respect  and  reverence,  and 
called  them  the  Wahsochee — equivalent  to  the  English 
word  Mysterious — by  which  name,  and  the  title  of  their 
founder,  they  have  ever  since  been  known. 

''Here  Providence  again  favored,  them,  and  their 
numbers  increased  very  rapidly.  Their  fame  spread  far 
and  wide  over  the  vast  wilderness,  and  bold  warriors 
from  distant  tribes  came  to  see  them,  many  of  whom  re- 
mained, converts  to  their  faith.  In  this  manner  the 
Wahsochee  village  again  became  populous  ;  and  the 
different  tribes,  though  at  deadly  enmity  with  one  anotner, 


UNRAVELLING   A    MYSTERY.  i«3 


all  concurred  in  respecting  and  leaving  them  unmolested. 
As  those  who  joined  them  were  among  the  most  intelU- 
crcnt  of  their  race,  and  as  these  were  from  a  great  many 
Nations,  the  language  of  each  was  gradually  introduced, 
until,  besides  a  dialect  of  their  own,  the  tribe  had  the 
advantage  of  understanding  that  of  almost  every  other 

of  note.  ,  T„ 

"Thus  for  several  years  all  went  on  prosperously, 
and  their  number  had  augmented  from  six  to  a  hundred 
and  fifty,  when  that  fatal  malady,  the  small-pox,  broke 
out  and  swept  off  four-fifths  of  the  nation.  From  this 
awful  blow  they  never  fully  recovered— at  lea^  never 
to  be  what  they  were  before— for  many  who  were  on  the 
point  of  joining  them,  were  deterred  by  what  they  de- 
clared to  be  the  angry  frown  of  the  Great  Spirit  ;  and 
although  other  tribes  were  scourged  in  like  manner,  still 
the  more  superstitious  contended  that  the  Wahsochee 
religion  could  not  be  good,  or  the  Great  Spirit  would 
not  have  been  angry  with  them,  even  though  he  were 
with  their  neighbors. 

"This  latter  affliction  occurred  some  two  years  prior 
ro  my  being  brought  among  them,  of  which  mysterious 
event  I  shall  now  proceed  to  speak  as  I  find  it  recorded 
by  Great  Medicine  himself." 

"  Permit  me  a  word,  Evaline,  before  you  proceed 
further  ?"  said  I,  interrupting  her.  "  Since  you  have 
briefly  given  the  history  of  the  Mysterious  Tribe,  may  1 
inquire  why  it  was,  on  our  first  acquaintance,  you  so 
strongly  insisted  I  should  not  question  you  concerning 
yourself  or  companions  ?"  i-  . 

^  -In  the  first  place,"  she  replied,  "Great  Medicine 
had  expressly  declared  (and  his  word  was  law  with  us) 
that  nothing  of  our  history  must  be  told  to  strangers, 
whose  desire  to  know,  as  a  general  thing,  would  pro- 
ceed from  idle  curiosity,  to  gratify  which  would  avail  us 
nothing.  In  the  second  place,  of  my  early  history  1  was 
ignorant— at  least  of  that  which  referred  to  my  parentage 
—and  to  be  questioned,  ever  caused  me  the  most  painful 
embarrassment ;  besides,  of  what  I  did  know,  I  had 
promised  the  old  man  to  reveal  nothing.  I  knew  1  was 
not  of  the  Indian  race  ;  but  to  admit  this  would  lead  to 


i84  UNRAVELLING   A  MYSTERY. 


a  thousand  other  inquiries,  which  could  not  be  satisfied, 
and  which  I  felt  a  stranger  had  no  right  to  make.  Are 
you  answered  ?" 

"  Fully  and  satisfactorily.  Please  go  on  with  your 
story  !" 

"  The  location  of  the  tribe,  at  the  period  of  which  I 
now  speak,"  proceeded  Evaline,  "  was  near  the  Des 
Moines  river,  in  the  southern  part  of  that  territory 
since  known  as  Iowa.  While  the  tribe  remained  here,  it 
was  customary  for  Great  Medicine  to  make  a  journey  to 
St.  Louis,  as  often  as  once  a  year,  to  trade  his  furs,  skins, 
embroidered  moccasins  and  the  like,  for  powder,  lead, 
beads,  blankets,  and  whatever  else  he  fancied  the  tribe 
might  need.  On  his  return  from  one  of  these  excur- 
sions (so  he  gives  the  story),  and  when  some  ten  miles 
above  St.  Louis,  having  fallen  behind  his  party,  he  was 
overtaken  by  a  fierce-looking  horseman,  who  bore  in  his 
arms  a  little  girl,  some  two  or  three  years  of  age,  and 
who  at  once  accosted  him,  in  a  very  gruff  manner,  de- 
manding to  know  whither  he  was  going.  This  horse- 
man, he  says,  was  a  very  villainous-looking  white  man, 
who  wore  a  long,  flowing  beard,  had  a  black,  fiery  eye, 
and  was  short  in  stature  and  heavy  set. 

On  hearing  the  reply  of  Great  Medicine,  the  white 
man  drew  a  pistol  and  dismounted,  ordering  him  to 
dismount  also.  Once,  he  writes^  he  would  have  shot  and 
scalped  the  bold  intruder  without  a  word  ;  but  now  he 
had  no  such  thoughts  ;  and  he  obeyed  him  in  silence, 
wondering  what  was  to  come  next. 

"  *  Here  is  a  brat,'  said  the  stranger,  pointing  to  the 
child  now  crouching  at  his  feet,  *  which  I  wish  out  of  the 
way,  and  am  too  much  of  a  coward  to  effect  my  desires. 
Take  her — it  is  your  calling — and  here  is  gold.' 

" '  You  are  mistaken  in  me,'  replied  Great  Medicine, 
*if  you  suppose  I  will  aid  your  base  ends.  I  would  not 
kill  that  innocent  little  creature  to  own  the  world.' 

"  '  You  an  Indian  and  say  this  !'  cried  the  other,  m?.k- 
ing  use  of  a  wicked  oath.  *  What  in  the  name  of  Heaven 
ails  the  child,  that  all  fear  to  harm  her  ?  She  must  die 
though  ;  and  if  you  will  not  undertake  the  job,  why,  then 


4  UNRAVELLING    A    MYSTERY.  ^^S 

there  is  no  alternative     and  he  placed  his  pistol  to  her 

^^^'^'' Stay cried  the  old  man,  beseechingly;  'I  will 
not  harm  her  myself  ;  but  if  you  wish  to  rid  yourself  of 
her,  I  will  consent  to  place  her  far  from  civilization,  and 
adopt  her  into  my  tribe.' 

'''But  she  is  a  child  of  consequence,  pursued  the 
other,  'the  daughter  of  one  who  is  a  great  chief  in  his 
own  country,  and  stands  between  me  and  fortune,  bhouid 

she  return  '  ,  .  ^  ^  .u^ 

'"There  is  no  likelihood  of  that,'  interrupted  the 
other,  'as  I  shall  take  her  some  hundreds  of  miles  into 
the  wilderness.'  i  .        r       j  • 

"  '  But  her  father,  who  knows  nothing  of  my  design, 
and  to  whom  I  must  report  her  lost  or  dead  may  insti- 
tute a  search.    How  do  I  know  she  may  not  be  found  ? 

" '  That  I  think  impossible,'  rejoined  the  old  man. 

'"But  th's  will  make  all  sure,' continued  the  dark 
stranger,  again  pointing  the  pistol  at  her  head. 

"  '  Nay  hold  !'  cried  the  other,  in  alarm.  If  you 
dare  to  murder  her,  I  will  make  her  spirit  haunt  you  for- 
ever 

" '  You  make  her  spirit  haunt  me  !  Umph  !  what  are 
voubut  a  decrepit  old  Indian?  By  heavens!  I  have  a 
mind  to  murder  you  both.  But  I  hate  murder  ;  for  in 
fact  one  never  feels  safe  afterward.  Do  you  believe  m  a 
God,  old  man?— for  you  talk  as  one  the  world  denomi- 
nates a  Christian.'  ■,.  • 

"  '  I  do  believe  in  a  God,'  answered  Great  Medicine  ; 
'  and  if  you  dare  to  harm  this  child,  His  just  retribution 
shall  follow  you,  even  to  the  remotest  bounds  of  earth, 
time  and  eternity.' 

"  The  other  paused,  reflected,  and  then  added  : 

'"I  would  not  have  her  blood  upon  my  soul,  for  1 
have  sin  enough  there  already.  You  think  there  is  no 
danger  of  her  being  discovered  ?' 

'"Not  the  least.' 

"  '  And  you  say  you  believe  in  a  God  ? 

'  I  do.'  .  ^, 

"  '  You  hope  for  salvation,  as  men  term  it  ? 

" '  I  do.'  .     ,      .  1 

'"Then  swear,  by  your  hopes  of  salvation,  to  keep 


86 


UNRAVELLING    A  MYSTERY. 


her  among  the  Indians  as  long  as  you  live — to  adopt  her 
into  your  tribe,  and  never  to  mortal  ear  to  reveal  a  word 
concerning  this  interview,  or  how  she  came  into  your 
possession — that  you  will  never  attempt  to  trace  out  her 
parentage,  nor  make  any  inquiries  concerning  her, — 
swear  to  all  this,  and  she  is  yours  !  Refuse,  and  her  death 
and  yours  shall  be  the  penalty  !' 

'  I  swear  to  all  !'  answered  Great  Medicine. 
"'Enough!  take  her  and  speed  to  the  wilderness; 
while  I  will  away  and  report  her  dead — murdered  by  the 
Indians,'  he  added,  with  a  grim  smile.  Then  leaping 
upon  his  horse,  he  muttered,  as  he  turned  away:  '  All  is 
safe,  I  think,  for  we  shall  soon  be  over  the  water ;'  and 
the  next  moment  both  horse  and  rider  were  lost  in  the 
forest. 

"  '  This  child,'  writes  Great  Medicine,  '  behold  in  your- 
self. Prairie  Flower  !  and  this  is  all  I  know  of  your  early 
history.' " 

"  Strange  !"  said  Madame  Mortimer,-  musingly. 
"  Here  is  more  mystery — I  do  not  understand  it.  Who 
could  have  been  this  horseman  ?  and  what  the  meaning 
of  his  words  ?  As  you  were  stolen  away  on  the  night 
succe  ding  my  desertion  by  your  father,  I  had  ever  sup- 
posed— or  hoped,  rather — you  had  been  taken  away  by 
him,  and  with  him,  wherever  he  went  ;  and  this  hope 
proved  my  only  comfort  in  affliction.  But  now  I  do  not 
know  what  to  think.  This  horseman  could  not  have 
been  your  father,  for  the  description  is  not  at  all  like  him. 
The  latter  was  tall — dark  complexioned,  it  is- true — but 
with  fine  features  and  handsome  person.  And  then  he 
referred  to  your  father,  as  knowing  nothing  of  this  dark 
transaction,  and  termed  him  a  great  chief  in  his  own 
country,  and  said  you  were  standing  between  him  and 
fortune.  What  could  he  have  meant  by  this  last  ?  Your 
father  had  no  fortune  to  my  knowledge,  and  mine  was  so 
fixed  he  could  not  get  it.  Ha  !  a  thought  strikes  me. 
He  was  an  exile  from  his  native  land — though  for  what 
he  would  never  tell  me,  and  would  never  speak  of  his 
early  history.  It  is  possible  he  may  have  been  a  person- 
age of  consequence,  banished  for  some  state  intrigue, 
and  again  restored.    It  may  be  he  had  news  of  this  when 


UNRAVELLING   A    MYSTERY.  '^1 

'"'^  W  "  his  must  be  it !  and  this  stranger,  some  fiend 
rSn  form,  piSti'ng  to  succeed  him  in  wealth  and 

m??riU£  -fdir  4f or;tt  f  spea.,  as 
^•^^^rrpfmr^r^er^r-we  Unow  more  than 
vou  think." 

'     "  Indeed  !  and  how  ?  j    f„r  T  fe-U 

L  Uan  blushed  and  I  became  embarrassed-for  I  felt 

I  had  in  my  heedlessness,  said  a  word  too  much- 

"Pardon  me  "  I  returned,  "  and  do  not  blame  my  in- 

formrnt  '    I  must  own  I  have  heard  'he  'ale  before^ 

Buryou  will  not  regret  it,  Pe'^h-P^,,f  ^^^^f^^^f^ly 
this  very  knowledge  you  are  partially,  it  not  entirely, 
ndebted  for  the  presence  of  your  long  lost  daughter. 

"IblmenooPne,"  she  answered,  solemnly;  "for  all, 
in  the  han"s  of  God  has  worked  for  my  good.    1  under- 

JlLrin;onfidence  and^ 

the  sJcrets  of  what  has  long  been  an  unhappy,  if  not  a 
fetched  hi,:    In  my  yoSnger  days  I  was  headstrong 

to"t;fost-ld^'^igKe  = 

to  my  cost    aim  i   g  j  j 

r./Tor  h^f sh"  bJen  ufen  from'  me,  the  grave  ere  this 
■"^^H^'a^'t  wtt'we^e  in  a  trembling  voice  and 
"^'l^GoIbrs  you,  mother!"  exclaimed  Eva,  in  atone 
-^l-H»id^ 

my  deserts.    Had  I  been  what  I   should  have  been, 


i88  UNRAVELLING    A  MYSTERY. 


perchance  your  father  had  never  left  me,  my  daughters. 
But  enough  of  this.  It  is  past  now — gone  beyond  recall 
— and  the  result  is  before  us.  But  go  on,  dear  Evaline — 
go  on  with  your  story  !" 

"  Were  I  to  tell  the  whole,"  resumed  the  latter,  "  it 
would  take  me  hours — nay,  days — but  that  I  shall  not 
attempt  to-night,  only  so  far  as  relates  to  my  earliest 
years  and  earliest  impressions.  In  future  I  will  give  you 
more,  little  by  little,  until  you  receive  the  whole. 

As  I  have  said  previously,  my  earliest  recollections 
are  of  Great  Medicine  and  his  tribe.  I  remember  his 
dark,  keen  eye,  and  of  his  gazing  upon  me  for  hours, 
when  none  were  by,  and  he  thought  I  did  not  notice  him. 
But  I  was  older  in  thought  than  he  was  aware  of ;  and  I 
used  to  wonder  at  this  singularity,  when  he  believed  I 
wondered  at  nothing.  I  remember  many  and  many  a 
time  of  kneeling  down  to  a  spring  of  clear  water,  gazing 
at  my  features,  and  wondering  why  I  was  so  different 
from  my  companions.  I  saw,  even  then,  that  my  features 
were  fairer  and  of  an  entirely  different  cast ;  and  this,  to 
my  young  fancy,  seemed  most  strange,  as  I  believed  my- 
self of  the  same  race  as  those  around  me.  Great  Medi- 
cine I  then  thought  my  father — for  so  he  bade  me  call 
him,  and  so  I  did.  As  I  grew  older,  this  contrast,  this 
difference  in  person,  struck  me  more  and  more,  and  at 
last  I  made  bold  to  interrogate  the  old  man  concern- 
ing it. 

"Never  shall  I  forget  his  look,  as  I,  in  childish  sim- 
plicity, asked  the  question.  He  started,  as  if  stung  by  a 
serpent,  and  his  small,  black  eyes  fastened  upon  mine  as 
though  to  read  my  very  soul.  Never  had  I  feared  him 
till  then.  There  was  a  wild  fascination  in  that  gaze, 
which  thrilled  and  overawed  me,  and  made  my  own  seek 
the  ground.  Never  shall  I  forget  his  words,  as  he  ad- 
vanced and  took  my  hand.  It  was  not  so  much  what  he 
said,  as  his  impressive  manner  of  saying  it. 

"'Child,*  he  replied,  'you  seek  to  know  too  much, 
and  the  knowledge  you  seek  would  render  you  in  future 
years  the  most  unhappy  of  mortals.  Something  I  feel 
you  must  now  know — and  this  it  is  :  You  are  not  of  my 
race  ;  you  are  a  pale-face  ;  I  am  your  guardian.  Seek 


UNRAVELLING    A  MYSTERY. 

to  know  no  more,  for  all  is  dark  beyond.    Be  one  of  us, 
and  be  happy  in  ignorance.  Breathe  this  I  have  told  you 
to  no  mortal  ear  !  and  never,  ftever  question  me  again  ! 
You  promise,  girl  ?'  he  added. 
"  '  I  do.' 

"  '  Enough  !    Go !'  ^   .       ,       ,  ,  . 

I  left  his  presence  a  changed  being,  though  he  knew 
it  not ;  for  his  strange  language  and  manner  had  excited 
that  eternal  thirst  for  knowledge  which  he  had  thought 
and  sought  to  allay.  I  questioned  him  no  more  ;  but  his 
singular  words  I  pondered  m  secret. 

'There  is  mystery  here,'  I  would  repeat  to  mysell  ; 
but  I  took  care  to  repeat  it  to  no  other  human  being. 

"  To  detail  my  strange  conjectures  from  that  time 
forth,  would  be  to  lay  bare  the  secret  workings  of  an 
ever  active  spirit.  I  shall  not  attempt  it,  but  leave  it  to 
your  imagination.  .... 

''About  this  period  a  few  missionaries  set  up  a  tem- 
porary station  near  our  locality,  for  the  double  purpose 
of  making  converts  to  their  faith  and  imparting  knowl- 
edge to  the  unenlightened  Indians  by  teaching  them  to 
read  and  write.  At  the  request  of  Great  Medicine,  three 
of  their  number  came  and  took  up  their  abode  with  us 
'  for  the  latter  purpose.  I  was  at  once  placed  under  their 
instruction,  as  were  all  the  younger  members  of  the  vil- 
lage On  my  first  appearance  before  them,  they  seemed 
surprised,  and  questioned  me  regarding  my  name  and 
parentage-at  the  same  time  expressing  their  belief  1 
was  not  an  Indian— or,  at  the  most,  only  a  half-breed  I 
replied,  that  as  to  myself  they  might  conjecture  what 
they  pleased,  but  that  I  was  not  then  at  liberty  to  answer 
any  questions,  and  tliere  the  subject  dropped. 

"A  year's  tuition  and  close  application  made  me 
quite  a  scholar,  and  I  could  now  read  and  write  the  Eng- 
lish language  quite  fluently,  as  could  several  of  the  more 
intelligent  of  my  companions.  At  the  close  of  the  period 
mentioned,  our  teachers,  after  presenting  each  of  their 
pupils  with  a  Bible,  and  distributing  among  us  several 
other  religious  books,  departed  to  another  section  of 

country.  .  .  j    u  4. 

"Soon  after  this/Great  Medicine  proposed  that  wq 


UNRAVELLING   A  MYSTERY. 


should  adopt  a  more  roving  life,  as  in  this  manner  he 
thought  greater  good  might  be  effected.  Accordingly  we 
began  moving  from  one  quarter  to  another,  trying  to  sub- 
due the  wild  passions  of  the  Indians  of  the  different  tribes 
we  met.  In  this  of  course  we  were  not  in  general  success- 
ful— though  our  exemplary  mode  of  life  ever  appeared 
to  make  a  favorable  impression  on  their  savage  hearts 
and  win  their  respect.  In  course  of  time  we  became 
personally  known  in  every  section  of  the  broad  West,  and 
were  allowed  to  come  and  depart  as  we  saw  proper. 
Whenever  we  heard  of  a  battle  about  to  be  fought  between 
two  nations,  we  would  generally  follow  one  party  or  the 
other,  that  we  might  be  on  the  ground  to  succor  the 
wounded.  If  we  gained  tidings  of  a  strong  party  about 
to  assault  a  weaker,  we  would  manage,  if  possible,  to  warn 
the  latter.  Or,  in  the  event  of  the  forces  being  equal,  if 
we  knew  of  a  surprise  one  tribe  had  planned  for  another, 
it  was  ever  our  design  to  warn  the  unwary.  Whites  as 
well  as  Indians  received  from  us  the  same  warnings — 
though  how  our  information  was  obtained,  generally  re- 
mained a  mystery  to  those  not  in  the  secret.  And  more- 
over, great  caution  was  required  by  the  informant  in  these 
cases,  to  avoid  exposing  himself  to  the  aggressors,  who,- 
in  the  heat  of  passion,  would  be  likely  to  seek  revenge. 
On  many  of  these  errands  of  mercy — fori  think  I  may  so 
term  them— have  I  been  sent,  when  I  knew  a  single  error 
would  cost  me  my  life.  But  I  believed  I  was  doing  my 
duty,  put  my  trust  in  a  Power  above,  and  faltered  not 
in  my  purpose.  I  was  never  detected  but  once  to  my 
knowledge  ;  and  in  that  instance,  fortunately  for  me,  I 
had  rendered  the  tribe  aggrieved  the  same  service  as  that 
for  which  they  brought  me  to  trial  before  their  council. 
This  being  proved,  it  was  finally  decided  that  the  obliga- 
tion on  their  part  canceled  the  aggression  on  mine,  and  I 
was  allowed  to  go  free,  with  a  very  significant  intimation, 
however,  that  if  caught  in  the  second  offense  my  sentence 
would  be  death. 

"But  as  I  do  not  intend  to  enter  infeo  detail  to-night, 
and  as  I  already  feel  somewhat  fatigued,  I  will  drop  my 
narrative  here,  and,  as  I  said  before,  give  you  from  time 
to  time  the  most  striking  incidents  of  my  life,  as  they  oc- 


PLANNING    FOR    THE   FUTURE.  191 

cur  to  my  recollection.  I  have  briefly  told  you  aU  I 
know  of  ™y  early  history,  and  by  your  leave  will  so  end 
the  story." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PLANNING  FOR  THE  FUTURE. 

OOR  child!  my  own  sweet  Evaline  !"  said 
Madame  Mortimer,   affectionately,  as  tlie 
former  concluded;  "what  a  singular  life 
has  been  yours  !  and  how  much  you  must 
■ — —    have  suffered  !"  i         .    f  \,^^ 

-  For  which  she  shall  be  made  happy  the  rest  of  her 
days,"  said  Eva,  springing  to  and  imprinting  a  kiss  on 

^^""^  Ah'"  chimed  in  Lilian,  following  the  example  of 
Eva  •  'Mid  I  not  say  we  would  love  her  as  a  sister? 

"Ay /but  I  had  no  idea  you  spoke  so  much  trutn, 
and  fn'^a  double  sense,"  rejoined  Eva,  ^^-^-^-^ ^f^^ 
toward  Charles.    "I  trust  we  may  love  her  as  a  sister 

indeed  you  may!"  chimed  in  I,  laughing.  "Eh! 

^^-"^Re  Quiet  I  beg  of  you!"  answered  my  friend  in 
some  coXstn;  while  ivaline  hung  her  head  with  a 
blush,  and  a  pleasant  smile  played  over  the  faces  of  the 

"IndT^dear  Evaline,"  said  Madame  Mortimer, 
''I  suppose  we  may  count  on  your  spending  the  remain- 
der of  your  days  with  us  ?"  ^ 

Evaline   seemed   to  muse  seriously,  but   did  not 

^^^""Surelv  you  do  not  hesitate,  my  child?" 

-Why  to  tell  the  truth,"  she  answered,  "I  love  the 
Indians,  and  know  they  will  be  loth  to  part  with  me. 


PLANNING   FOR    THE  FUTURE. 


"  And  has  a  mother  no  tie  stronger  than  that  of  mere 
association  ?"  rejoined  the  other,  reproachfully. 

Evaline  looked  up  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Nay,  mother,"  she  said,  "  do  not  speak  thus  !  Yes  !" 
she  exclaimed,  suddenly  rising,  and  throwing  her  arms 
around  the  other's  neck  :  yes,  dear  mother,  I  will  go  with 
^'ou,  even  to  the  ends  of  the  earth ! — for  I  feel  I  could 
not  part  from  you  again.  From  my  very  childhood  1 
have  yearned  for  this  happy  moment — to  hear  the  sweet 
voice  of  one  I  could  call  mother.  It  may  be  wrong  to 
forsake  my  calling ;  but,  if  it  be,  I  feel  I  rnust  err  ;  for  I 
am  only  human  after  all,  and  cannot  withstand  the  temp- 
tation of  being  with  those  I  already  love  beyond  all 
others  I  have  ever  seen." 

"  Bless  you,  Evaline,  for  these  endearing  words  !" 

"But  I  must  return  to  them,"  she  added—" I  have 
p--omised  that.  I  must  return  and  bid  them  a  last  fare- 
well." 

"  But  where  are  you  to  find  them,  my  child  ?" 

"  They  will  winter  on  the  Black  Hills,  some  sixty  or 
seventy  miles  from  Fort  Laramie." 

"And  will  they  remain  through  the  spring  T  asked  I. 

"  I  cannot  say.  They  may  remain  there  through  the 
summer,  for  all  are  particularly  attached  to  the  spot  ; 
and  if  any  place  can  be  called  their  home,  it  is  the  one  in 
question." 

"  Then  you  can  visit  them  on  our  way  to  the  East ; 
and  should  every  thing  be  prosperous,  we  shall  start  as 
early  in  the  spring  as  practicable." 

"  Oh,  then  we  are  to  go  East  in  earnest?"  exclaimed 
Eva,  clapping  her  hands  for  joy. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  am  anxious  to  see  home,  and 
cannot  think  of  leaving  my  friends  behind  me." 

"  Thank  you  for  this  welcome  news  !"  she  returned  ; 
"  for  I  am  already  tired  of  the  forest." 

"But  you  do  not  regret  having  come  here.  Eva?" 
said  her  mother,  inquiringly. 

"  Why,  I  have  regretted  it  all  along,  till  I  found  my 
sweet  sister.  Of  course  I  cannot  regret  being  made 
happy  by  her  presence,  which  but  for  this  journey  l^-^d 


PLANNING    FOR    THE   FUTURE.  '93 


probably  never  been.  At  the  same  time  I  am  not  the 
less  anxious  to  return  now  and  take  her  with  me." 

"  And  I,"  said  Mrs.  Huntly,  "  now  that  I  am  blessed 
with  my  children,  begin  to  feel  anxious  to  see  my  native 
land  again,  to  there  pass  the  remainder  of  my  days,  and 
take  my  final  rest  with  those  that  have  gone  before  me." 

"  God  grant  it  may  be  long  ere  the  latter  event  !"  re- 
turned Charles,  with  feeling. 

''Amen  !"  added  I. 

"  It  seems,"  observed  Madame  Mortimer,  after  some 
reflection,  "as  if  Providence  especially  directed  our  steps 
hither  ;  and  it  is  the  only  way  I  can  account  for  my 
anxiety  to  visit  this  part  of  the  world,  and  thus  expose 
myself  and  Eva  to  hardships  and  perils.  What  need  had 
1  to  come  westward  ?  I  had  a  handsome  competence, 
and  no  ambition  to  be  a  pioneer  ;  and  yet  something 
whispered  me  I  must  go.  Truly,  as  I  said  before,  God 
works  in  wonders  !" 

In  like  conversation  an  hour  or  two  flew  by,  when  the 
party  broke  up,  and  Madame  Mortimer  and  her  daugh- 
ters were  conducted  by  Huntly  and  myself  to  their  own 
abode,  which  was  close  at  hand,  and  the  excitements  of 
the  day  were  soon  by  each  forgotten  in  the  pleasant 
dreams  of  the  night. 

Time  rolled  away  pleasantly  ;  and  the  third  night 
after  this,  having  retired  at  the  usual  hour  and  fallen 
into  a  sweet  sleep,  I  was  awakened  by  Huntly,  whom  I 
found  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  apparently  in  great 
excitement. 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  is  the  matter  ?"  exclaimed  I, 
rubbing  open  my  eyes  and  starting  up  in  bed. 
•  "  So,  then,  you  are  awake  at  last  !"  he  replied,  his 
eyes  sparkling  with  what  to  me  seemed  unnatural  fire. 
"  Why,  Frank,  I  was  beginning  to  think  you  were  taking 
your  last  long  sleep,  and  that  I  might  as  well  call  to  a 
wooden  man.  Come  !  up,  now,  and  give  me  joy  !  It  is 
all  settled,  my  dear  fellow — all  settled  !" 

"  Is  it  ?"  rejoined  I,  completely  at  a  loss  to  compre- 
hend what  he  meant ;  but  somehow,  in  my  sleepy  confu- 
sion, mixing  it  up  with  a  duel  of  which  I  had  been 

12 


PLANNING   FOR    THE  FUTURE. 


dreaming  the  night  previous.  "  And  so  it  is  all  settled, 
eh  ?    Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Charley." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be,"  he  replied  ;  "and  I  awoke 
you  on  purpose  to  have  you  share  my  happiness.  Come, 
give  me  your  hand  !" 

"  But  how  did  you  settle  it,  Charley  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  made  bold  to  take  up  the  matter  at  last  and 
press  it  to  a  conclusion," 

"  And  so  you  settled  it  ?" 

"  Ay,  and  it  is  to  come  off  at  the  same  time  as  yours." 
As  mine  !  But,  my  friend,  I  have  no  such  affair  on 
hand,  to  my  knowledge." 

"What  !"  exclaimed  Huntly  looking  at  me  in  astonish- 
ment. "  Why,  you  have  given  me  to  understand  all  along 
that  you  had." 

"I?    No,  you  must  be  mistaken." 

"  Ha  !  then  you  have  quarreled  ?" 

"  No  !  exactly  the  reverse.  But  you  told  me  a  moment 
since  you  had  settled  the  whole  matter,  and  now  you  say 
it  is  to  come  off  with  mine.  Somehow  I  do  not  under- 
stand it.  Either  you  or  I  must  have  made  a  mistake. 
When  you  said  it  was  all  settled,  I  supposed  you  to  mean 
amicably  settled ;  but  I  see  now  you  simply  referred  to 
manner,  time,  and  place.  Well,  at  all  events,  I  will  stand 
by  you  to  the  last,  though  I  sincerely  regret  the  affair 
could  not  have  ended  without  a  meeting.  Pistols  or 
rifles,  Charles  ?" 

"  Pistols  or  rifles  !"  he  repeated,  gazing  at  me  with  a 
peculiar  expression.  "Why,  Frank,  what  do  you  mean 
by  this  strange  language?  or  are  you  still  asleep  ?  In 
the  name  of  all  that  is  curious,  pray  tell  me  if  you  know 
yourself  what  you  are  talking  about  ?" 

"Why,  fighting,  of  course." 

"Fighting?" 

"  Ay,  you  were  speaking  of  a  duel,  were  you  not  ?" 

For  a  brief  moment  Huntly  looked  at  me  seriously, 
and  then  broke  forth  in  a  roar  of  laughter  that  fairly  made 
the  cabin  tremble.  It  was  some  time  ere  he  could  com- 
mand his  voice  sufficiently  to  make  himself  intelligible. 

"  Go  to  bed,  Frank  !"  were  his  first  words,  as,  half  bent 
over,  his  hands  clasping  his  sides,  he  stood  gazing  at  me 


PLANNING   FOR    THE   FUTURE.  i95 


with  a  comical  look.  "  Go  to  bed,  Frank,  and  dream 
yourself  into  a  sensible  fellow — for  just  now  you  are  as 
wild  as  a  night-hawk." 

But  if  you  did  not  allude  to  a  duel,  Charley,  pray 
tell  nae  to  what  you  did  allude?" 

"  To  matrimony — neither  more  nor  less,"  he  answered, 
laughing. 

Ha !  I  see  it  all  now.  Why,  how  stupid  I  must 
have  been  !  But  I  was  dreaming  of  a  duel  last  night,  and, 
being  awakened  so  suddenly,  and  seeing  you  so  excited, 
got  completely  bewildered.  And  so  you  have  been  Ute- 
h-tHe  with  Evaline,  found  your  tongue  at  last,  and  said 
the  sensible  thing,  eh  ?" 

Yes,  and  am  now  the  happiest  fellow  living." 
"You  found  it  all  right,  did  you,  just  as  I  said  you 
would  ?" 

"So  far  that  I  found  she  loved  me,  and  had  from  the 
date  of  our  first  meeting  ;  but  that,  believing  herself  a 
poor,  nameless  girl,  she  had  avoided  me,  and  striven  in 
vain  to  crush  her  passion  in  the  germ.  Though  she 
would  have  loved  me,  she  said,  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
others,  even  to  the  day  of  her  death,  yet,  had  matters  not 
turned  out  as  they  have,  she  would  most  assuredly  have 
refused  my  hand,  though  backed  by  all  the  eloquent 
pleadings  of  which  the  human  tongue  is  master." 

"Indeed  would  she!"  I  rejoined;  "for  such  is  her 
proud,  noble  nature.  You  remember  our  conversation 
years  ago  respecting  her?  My  remark  then  was,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  that,  though  she  might  love,  she  would  reject 
you  ;  and  I  gave,  as  one  reason  for  it,  that  she  was  too  . - 
noble  minded  to  wed  above  herself.  For  what  strange 
things  have  since  transpired,  you  may  thank  your  stars  ! 
You  and  I  little  dreamed  then  what  the  future  had  in 
store  !  Well !  well !  thank  God,  all  has  turned  out  for 
the  best  !" 

"Ay,  Frank,"  returned  my  friend,  solemnly,  "we  may 
well  thank  God,  and  congratulate  each  other  that  we  are 
here  alive,  after  the  thousand  dangers  to  which  we  have 
been  exposed  !" 

"  And  she  accepted  your  hand  ?"  I  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  She  did,  though  not  without  much  urging  ;  for  she 


.96      PLANNING   FOR    THE  FUTURE. 

contended  that  even  now  she  was  but  a  simple  forest 
maiden  unused  to  the  ways  of  civilization,  and  far  my 
Meri  ";  in  education,  and  said  that  I  might  aspire  hjgher 
and  be  successful.  But  she  loved-that  was  enough  for 
me-and  love  and  my  pleadings  at  last  overcame  her 
scruples  ;  and  I  left  her  with  a  lighter  heart  than  I  have 
known  for  many  a  long  year. 

°^Well,  my  friend,  I  sincerely  congratulate  you  on  the 
happy  termination !  And  so,  to  speak  plainly,  your 
wedding  is  to  come  off  with  mine  ? 

"  mne  was  to  have  come  off  on  the  day  you  returned  ; 
such  were  the  conditions;  but  the  day  passed,  as  you 
know  how  ;  and  as  we  are  determined  on  going  East  n 
theTpring,  Lilian  and  I  have  thought  best  to  defer  it  till 
we  arrive^at  home.  Ah  !  Charles,  how  that  word  thrills 
me  '  Home  !  Ah,  me  !  how  long  since  I  have  seen  it  ! 
and  who  knows  what  disappointment  and  sorrow  may  be 
there  in  store  for  me  !  And  how  must  niy  doting  parents 
have  mourned  my  long  absence !  Perchance  they  think 
me  d?ad!  Merciful  Heaven  !  Pe>-f/"C\''?fy  ^L^^ 
Tead  themselves  !    Oh,  God  !  should  such  be  the  case 

 But,  no  !  I  will  not,  dare  not,  think  so     I  will  hope 

for  the  best,  and  strive  not  to  borrow  trouble.    It  is 
enough  to  bear  it  when  it  comes.    C.°™«'  ™y 
bed  '.  for  the  thought  of  home  has  driven  all  others  i  ut 
of  my  mind,  and  I  can  talk  no  more  to-night. 


FINAL  DEPARTURE. 


197 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
FINAL  DEPARTURE. 

IT  is  when  in  sweet  and  constant  communion 
with  those  we  love  that  we  forget  the  jars  and 
discords  of  our  past  life,  in  the  enrapturing 
harmony  of  the  present.  We  then  lose  sight 
of  the  world  as  it  is,  and  only  behold  it 
through  that  magic  glass  of  inner  joy  which  shows  all  its 
beauties  and  conceals  its  defects.  These  moments  of 
earthly  beatitude  are  most  precious  and  evanescent. 
They  are  as  so  many  golden  sunbeams,  streaming 
upon  the  otherwise  gloomy  path  of  the  traveler,  and  show- 
ing him  a  thousand  beauties,  of  whose  existence  so  near 
him  he  had  previously  no  conception. 

Thus  it  was  with  myself  and  friends.  Time  rolled 
away  almost  unnoted,  and  ere  we  had  prepared  ourselves 
to  bid  old  hoary-headed  Winter  adieu,  we  found  to  our 
surprise  he  had  gone,  and  that  light-footed  Spring  was 
eayly  tripping  and  smiling  in  his  place. 

Although  far  in  the  wilderness,  Oregon  City  was  not 
without  its  attractions.  Of  the  settlers,  many  were 
younff  people,  who  had  been  well  brought  up  in  the  East, 
and  had  come  hither  to  try  their  fortunes.  They  did  not 
believe  in  renouncing  all  their  former  amusements  ;  and, 
in  consequence,  gay  parties,  festivities,  and  balls,  suc- 
ceeded one  another  in  rapid  succession.  To  these  myself 
and  friends  were  always  invited,  and  a  number  of  them 
we  attended.  They  were  rude  in  comparison  to  some 
in  the  older  settlements,  it  is  true  ;  but  being  in  general 
conducted  with  great  propriety,  they  often  proved  very 
agreeable  pastimes,  and  enlivened  the  otherwise  rather 
dull  monotony  of  the  village. 

As  spring  advanced,  we  began  gradually  to  prepare 
for  our  journey.  The  real  estate  previously  purchased 
by  Mrs.  Huntly,  was  readily  sold  for  cash,  and  the  re- 
ceipts doubled  the  purchase  money.    As  we  designed 


198 


FINAL  DEPARTURE. 


taking  nothing  with  us  but  what  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary, the  furniture  of  both  Mrs.  Huntly  and  Madame 
Mortimer  was  also  disposed  of— possession  to  be  given 
as  soon  as  the  premises  should  be  vacated. 

As  our  party  of  itself  was  not  strong,  and  as  there 
were  many  here  who  designed  going  East— some  to  pro- 
cure goods,  some  to  remain,  and  others,  who  had  come 
here  in  advance,  to  bring  on  their  families— we  decided 
to  join  them,  and  thus  journey  in  comparative  security. 

Great  was  the  delight  of  Lilian  and  Eva  as  the  time 
drew  near  for  our  departure.  In  fact,  toward  the  last, 
they  could  think  of  nothing,  talk  of  nothing,  but  the 
pleasure  of  quitting  their  present  abode,  and  of  what  they 
would  do  when  they  should  safely  arrive  at  their  destina- 
tion. 

With  Evaline  it  was  different.  In  this  journey  she 
only  saw  a  change  of  life  and  scene— (which,  if  truth 
must  be  told,  she  rather  regretted  than  rejoiced  at)— and 
a  sad  parting  from  her  Indian  friends.  Where  Lilian 
and  Eva  saw  welcome  faces  and  a  thousand  fascinations 
in  the  haunts  of  civilization,  she  beheld  nothing  but  the 
cold  gaze  of  strangers  and  the  gossiping  speculations  of 
the  worldly-minded.  She  was  beautiful  and  fascinating 
in  her  personal  appearance— refined,  polished,  and  grace- 
ful in  her  manners— but,  withal,  so  excessively  modest 
as  to  underrate  her  own  powers,  and  fancy  herself  an 
awkward  forest  maiden,  unfitted  for  the  society  in  which 
she  was  destined  more  or  less  to  mingle.  Both  Charles 
and  I,  as  also  the  others,  ever  strove  to  eradicate  this  un- 
pleasant impression,  and  we  in  part  succeeded;  but  still 
she  was  diffident,  sober  minded,  and  without  a  particle 
of  that  enthusiasm  so  strongly  manifested  by  her  sister 
and  Lilian. 

The  Indian  companions  of  Evaline  had  remained  in 
the  village  through  the  winter  ;  and  by  their  quiet,  un- 
obtrusive manners,  their  steady,  upright  mode  of  life — 
so  different  from  the  drunken,  brawling  natives  of  the 
neighboring  tribes,  who  occasionally  visited  the  village 
— had  won  the  respect  and  regard  of  the  citizens,  and,  in 
fact,  had  become  decided  favorites  with  all.  While  the 
former  were  sought  for,  the  latter  were  shunned  ;  and 


FINAL  departure;. 


199 


the  widest  distinction  in  all  cases  was  ever  drawn  be- 
tween the  Wahsochees  and  their  red  brethren  of  other 
nations.  But  notwithstanding  this  partiality,  the  Wah- 
sochees were  evidently  not  contented  in  their  present 
situation.  To  them,  civilized  customs  had  less  attraction 
than  the  more  rude  and  simple  ones  of  their  own  tribe, 
and  they  were  now  anxious  to  depart  and  join  their 
friends.  It  was  arranged  that  all  should  proceed  in 
company  as  far  as  Fort  Laramie,  whence  Evaline  could 
either  accompany  the  Indians  home,  or  let  them  go  in 
advance  to  herald  her  approach,  as  circumstances  might 
determine. 

In  enumerating  the  different  personages  who  have 
figured  in  this  narrative,  I  must  not  forget  Teddy.  For 
the  last  five  or  six  months  he  had  been  in  his  glory  ;  and 
between  taking  care  of  our  horses,  spinning  long  yarns 
to  the  villagers,  (whom,  by  the  way,  he  ever  succeeded 
in  astonishing),  and  making  love  to  Molly  Stubbs,  he 
had,  as  the  phrase  goes,  had  "  his  hands  full."  Of  his 
success  in  the  last,  I  must  let  the  reader  judge  by  the  fol- 
lowing colloquy,  which  took  place  between  us  a  week  or 
so  previous  to  the  time  fixed  on  for  our  departure. 

Approaching  me  with  a  rather  timid  step,  hat  in  hand, 
and  making  a  low  obeisance,  he  said  : 

''The  top  of  the  morning  to  your  honor." 

"The  same  to  you,  Teddy."  . 

''Sure,  your  honor— (a  pause  and  a  rapid  twirl  of  the 
hat)— sure,  and  is  it  thrue  ye're  after  taking  yoursilf  and 
frinds  from  these  diggins  (as  the  spalpeens  call  the  likes) 
in  a  week  for  that  mather?" 

'*  All  true,  Teddy,  nothing  unforeseen  preventing." 

"  Troth  !  and  ye'U  be  missed  from  this  counthry  when 
the  likes  of  that  happens." 

"  I  trust  so,  Teddy." 

Another  pause,  another  twirl  of  the  hat,  and  a  scratch- 
ing of  the  head.    After  some  hesitation  he  proceeded  : 

"  Sure,  and  it's  me  own  mother's  son,  Teddy  O'Lagh- 
erty,  as  'ud  like  to  be  axing  yees  a  question  ?" 

"  Well,  Teddy,  say  on  !" 

"  Faith  !  and  it's  mesilf  as  has  been  long  in  your  hon- 
or's sarvice,  now." 


20O 


FINAL  DEPARTURE. 


"Some  three  or  four  years,  I  believe,  off  and  on." 
"  And  it's  not  a  bether  masther  I'd  iver  want,  no  it 
isn't." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  But  ye  *s  a-going  home,  now,  and  maybe  doesn't 
care  for  the  likes  of  me  iny  longer?" 

"  I  see  :  you  wish  to  be  discharged  ?" 

Another  twirl  of  the  hat  and  scratch  of  the  head. 

"  Why,  now,  your  honor — no  offince  at  all — but — but 
to  spaak  the  thruth,  and  make  a  claan  breast  of  it,  it's 
that  same  I'd  ayther  be  axing  for,  or  doubling  the  sar- 
vice,  jist." 

Doubling  the  service,  Teddy?  I  do  not  understand 
you.    You  mean  I  must  double  your  wages,  eh  ?" 

"  Will,  it's  not  exactly  that — but — but — but— ye  sae — 
(Here  the  hat  fell  to  the  ground,  and  Teddy  made  an  un- 
successful effort  to  recover  it,)—''  Murthertake  the  luck  ! 
but  I'll  say  it  now  if  I  dies  for  it  betimes  !  Ye  sae,  your 
honor,  Fve  axed  Molly,  and  it's  all  sittled,  and  there's 
a  going  to  be  the  pair  of  us,  barring  that  the  two  counts 
one  Scripter-wise." 

"  So,  so — I  understand  now — you  are  about  to  be  mar- 
ried to  Molly?" 

"  Why,  yis,  I  may  say  that's  the  short  way  of  saying 
the  likes,  your  honor." 

"  Exactly  ;  and  unless  I  wish  to  employ  you  both,  you 
desire  to  quit  my  service  ?" 

"  Troth  !  and  your  honor's  a  gintleman  at  guessing." 

"  Well,  Teddy,  as  I  have  no  use  for  Molly  at  this 
time,  I  will  give  you  an  honorable  discharge,  and  a 
handsome  wedding  present  for  your  valuable  services 
besides." 

"  God  bliss  ye  for  a  gintleman,  ivery  inch  of  yees  ! 
and  it's  mesilf  as'll  niver  forgit  ye  in  me  prayers  !"  was 
the  warm-hearted  response,  as,  grasping  my  hand,  he 
shook  it  heartily,  while  his  eyes  filled  with  joyful  tears. 
"  God  bliss  ye  for  a  noble  heart  !"  he  added,  as  he  turned 
away  to  communicate  his  success  to  her  with  whom  his 
fortune  was  about  to  be  linked. 

Suffice  it  here,  that  I  kept  my  word  with  Teddy,  who 


FAREWELL    TO    THE  TRIBE. 


20 1 


had  no  reason  to  regret  having  entered  my  service  and 
secured  my  esteem. 

The  long  wished  for  day  of  our  departure  came  at 
last,  and,  being  one  of  the  brightest  and  most  pleasant 
of  the  season,  was  hailed  with  delight  as  an  omen  of 
prosperity.  Everything  having  been  previously  ar- 
ranged, there  was  little  to  do  but  take  leave  of  those 
who  remained  ;  and  this  being  soon  over,  we  were  on 
the  move  at  an  early  hour,  a  goodly  company  of  thirty 
souls,  two-thirds  of  whom  were  of  the  sterner  sex. 

As  much  of  importance  is  yet  to  be  told,  and  as  the 
reader  has  once  or  twice  followed  me  over  the  ground 
now  traversed,  I  will  not  trouble  him  with  a  detail  of 
our  journey  from  Oregon  City  to  Fort  Laramie. 

Suffice,  that  we  reached  the  latter  place  in  safety, 
though  much  fatigued,  about  the  middle  of  July,  Anno 
Domini,  1844,  and  some  four  years  subsequent  to  my 
former  visit  here,  when  I  first  beheld  the  beautiful  Prairie 
Flower,  otherwise  Leni  Leoti,  now  Evaline  Mortimer, 
and  soon  to  be  But  let  me  not  anticipate. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  MYSTERIOUS  TRIBE. 

O  the  great  delight  of  Evaline,  as  well  as  of 
those  who  sympathized  with  her,  it  was  ascer- 
tained, soon  after  our  arrival  at  the  fort,  that 
some  of  the  Mysterious  Tribe  had  been  seen 
quite  recently  in  the  vicinity  ;  from  which  we 
drew  the  conclusion  that  they  were  still  at  their  winter 
quarters  on  the  Black  Hills.  It  being  Evaline's  desire 
to  see  them  as  soon  as  possible,  it  was  finally  arranged 
that  her  sister,  Lilian,  Qharles  and  myself  should  beai 
her  company,  along  with  her  Indian  friends,  while  hei 


202  FAREWELL    TO    THE  TRLBE. 


mother  and  Mrs.  Huntly  should  await  our  return  at  the 
fort. 

On  learning  our  determination,  some  five  or  six  of 
the  party,  with  whom  we  had  crossed  the  mountains, 
volunteered  to  go  with  us — a  favor  which  we  gladly  ac- 
cepted— as  this  would  strengthen  our  party,  and  render 
us  less  liable  to  attack  should  we  chance  ,  upon  hostile 
savages.  The  rest  of  the  company,  after  remaining  over 
night  at  the  fort,  being  anxious  to  proceed,  bade  us 
adieu,  and  resumed  their  journey  on  the  morning  fol- 
lowing. 

Before  starting  for  the  Black  Hills,  we  procured  a 
couple  of  tents  for  the  ladies,  which  we  packed  on  mules  ; 
and  then,  mounting  each  on  a  good  horse,  with  all  the 
necessary  equipments  for  defense,  we  set  forth  on  the 
second  day  at  an  early  hour. 

For  a  number  of  miles  we  made  rapid  progress  ;  but 
at  length  we  came  to  a  rapid  stream,  with  steep  banks, 
which  delayed  us  some  time  in  seeking  a  place  to  ford. 
This  crossed,  we  soon  came  to  another  where  a  similar 
delay  awaited  us.  In  short,  our  progress  was  so  many 
times  checked  through  the  day,  that  when  night  at  last 
began  to  draw  her  sable  curtains,  we  found,  to  the  best 
of  our  judgment,  that  hardly  two-thirds  of  our  journey 
had  been  gone  over. 

Selecting  1a  pleasant  spot,  we  pitched  our  tents,  liber- 
ated our  animals  and  encamped.  An  hour  or  two  was 
passed  in  a  very  agreeable  manner  ;  when  the  ladies, 
who  appeared  more  fatigued  than  we  of  the  sterner  sex, 
withdrew  to  their  quarters,  leaving  the  rest  of  us  squatted 
around  a  large  fire,  which  we  had  started,  not  to  warm 
ourselves  by,  for  it  was  a  sultry  July  night,  but  to  keep 
off  the  wild  animals,  of  whose  proximity  we  were  several 
times  reminded  by  dismal  howls. 

A  little  before  midnight  our  animals  were  driven  in 
and  picketed,  and  a  guard  set,  more  from  precaution  than 
apprehension  of  danger.  This  done,  the  remainder  of 
the  party  stretched  themselves  around  the  fire,  and,  with 
the  exception  of  my  friend  and  I,  were  soon  in  the  en- 
joyment of  that  sweetest  of  all  blessings,  a  sound  an^ 


FAREWELL    TO    THE  TRIBE, 


healthful  sleep.  For  some  time  I  lay  musing  on  the 
singular  events  of  my  life,  and  then  turned  to  Fluntly. 

"Well,  Charley,"  said  I,  "  this  seems  like  old  times." 

"  So  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  rejoined,  "  with  one 
exception,  Frank." 
The  ladies,  eh?" 

"  Exactly.  I  trust  nothing  may  occur  to  make  us  re- 
gret their  presence!"  he  added,  seriously.  "You  and  I 
have  faced  danger  too  often  to  fear  it  for  our  own  sakes — 
but  if  anything  should  happen  now  " 

"Surely  you  do  not  dream  of  danger  here?"  I  inter- 
rupted. 

"  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Frank,"  he  replied,  "  I 
have  my  misgivings  that  we  shall  see  trouble  ere  we 
again  reach  the  fort." 

"  God  forbid  !  What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"  I  can  give  no  reason.  It  is  simply  a  presentiment 
of  evil." 

"  But  from  what  source  do  you  apprehend  danger?" 

"  From  no  particular  one,  Frank." 

"  Merely  a  fancy  of  yours,  probably,  springing  from 
your  intense  interest  in  those  more  dear  to  you  than  life." 

"  God  send  it  be  only  fancy  !"  he  rejoined,  gloomily. 

His  words  made  me  sad,  and,  added  to  the  restlessness 
I  had  previously  felt,  kept  me  awake  a  long  time.  At 
last  I  fell  into  a  feverish  slumber,  and  was  gradually  pro- 
gressing toward  a  state  of  utter  forgetfulness,  when  a 
snorting  and  stamping  of  the  animals  aroused  me,  and  to- 
gether with  Huntly  I  sprung  to  my  feet  in  alarm. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  I  said  to  the  guard,  whom  I  found  stand- 
ing near  me,  pale  as  death,  with  his  rifle  pointed  in  the 
direction  whence  came  the  disturbance. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered  ;  "  this  is  the  first  I  have 
heard.    Shall  I  give  the  alarm  ?" 

"  No  !  remain  quiet  a  moment  where  you  are,  and 
I  will  steal  in  among  the  animals  and  ascertain  the  cause. 
I  do  not  think  it  proceeds  from  savages,  or  we  should 
have  had  an  onset  ere  this." 

"  What  then,  Frank  ?"  asked  Huntly,  taking  his  posi- 
tion by  the  tents,  rifle  in  hand. 


FAREWELL    TO    THE  TRIBE, 


<Most  likely  some  wild  beast,  which,  urged  on  by 
hunger,  has  ventured  a  little  nearer  than  usual." 

My  conjecture  this  time  proved  correct ;  for  on  cau- 
tiously approaching  the  frightened  animals,  I  discovered 
a  small  wolf  in  the  act  of  gnawing  a  tether  rope  of  buffalo 
hide.  I  could  have  shot  him  from  where  I  stood  ;  but 
this  I  did  not  care  to  do,  as  it  would  only  create  unneces- 
sary alarm.  Retreating  a  few  paces  and  selecting  a  good 
sized  club,  I  informed  the  guard  and  Huntly  that  there  was 
no  cause  for  alarm  ;  and  then  returning  with  a  stealthy 
pace,  I  got  close  to  the  hungry  beast  without  making  him 
aware  of  my  presence.  His  head  was  from  me,  and  he  was 
eagerly  engaged  in  getting  a  morsel  to  eke  out  a  half- 
famished  existence.  I  believe  I  could  have  killed  the 
poor  creature  with  a  single  blow,  and  I  raised  my  club  for 
the  purpose  ;  but  pitv  gained  power  over  ray  resolution, 
and  I  gave  him  only  "a  gentle  tap,  which  rather  scared 
than  hurt  him,  and'he  ran  away  howling. 

This  little  incident,  though  nothing  in  itself,  tended 
to  so  increase  the  nervousness  of  both  Huntly  and  my- 
self, that  we  did  not  fall  soundly  asleep  till  the  first  sign 
of  daybreak  streamed  up  golden  in  the  east.  An  hour 
later  we  were  all  on  our  feet  ;  and  having  partaken  of  a 
slight  repast,  and  laughed  over  our  fears  of  the  departed 
night,  we  mounted  our  horses  and  again  proceeded  on 

our  journey.  ^    .     -  a 

No  more  delays  occurred  ;  and  ere  the  sun  had  gained 
the  meridian,  we  came  in  sight  of  the  village  ;  when  our 
Indian  companions,  unable  to  restrain  themselves  longer, 
uttered  shouts  of  delight  and  darted  away  in  advance 

of  us.  J       •  1 

I  turned  to  Evaline,  and  beheld  her  seated  quietly  on 
her  little  pony,  her  gaze  riveted  upon  the  village,  but 
apparently  laboring  under  no  excitement.  A  closer 
scrutiny  convinced  me  I  was  mistaken.  There  was  little 
outward  display  of  her  feelings  ;  but  I  perceived,  in  her 
ashen  cheeks  and  absent  stare,  that  thoughts,  mighty  in 
their  power,  were  stirring  the  soul  within.  For  a  short 
time  she  seemed  unconscious  of  anything  around  her, 
and  it  was  not  until  Eva  had  addressed  her  thrice  that  she 
received  'in  answer  to  her  question  : 


FAREWELL    TO    THE    TRIBE.  205 


"  Is  this  the  spot,  sister  ?" 

On  the  second  repetition,  Evaline  started,  turned  to 
the  fair  querist,  and  sighed  : 
*'This  is  the  spot." 

Then  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  remained 
silent  until  addressed  again. 

"  Why  are  you  so  sad,  Evaline  ?"  inquired  Lilian. 
"  Ay,'sister,  tell  us  !"  added  Eva. 

"I  am  thinking  of  the  past  and  the  future,"  was  the 
answer,  in  a  low,  tremulous  tone.  ''Oh,  my  friends," 
she  continued,  you  cannot  know  my  feelings.  I  am 
about  to  bid  farewell  to  those  who  have  been  to  me  as 
brothers  and  sisters.  I  am  about  to  leave— to  see  them 
no  more— to  go  far  away  to  the  land  of  the  stranger. 
True,  you  wiJl  say,  I  go  not  alone  ;  I  shall  have  with  me 
a  kind  mother  and  sister,  and  other  dear  friends  ;  but  still 
you  know  not  what  it  is  to  suddenly  and  utterly  tear 
yourself  away  from  old  ties  and  old  associations.  You 
know  not  the  fascinations  of  the  wilderness,  to  one  who, 
like  myself,  has  never  known  anything  else.  Even  dan- 
ger has  a  charm  to  those  who  are  bred  to  it ;  and  it  is 
hard,  with  all  the  inducements  before  me,  to  break  the  ^ 
spell  of  unlimited  freedom  with  which  I  have  roamed  V 
over  thousands  of  miles  of  uncultivated  territory.  But  I 
feel  it  my  duty  to  go  with  you.  I  cannot  think  of  part- 
ing from  my  dear  mother  again  in  life.  As  she  has  sug- 
gested, the  tie  binding  me  to  her  I  acknowledge  to  be 
stronger  than  that  of  mere  association." 

"  And  have  you  no  other  inducement  to  part  from  the 
Mysterious  Tribe?"  asked  Huntly,  a  little  reproachfully. 

Evaline  looked  up,  her  eye  met  his,  a  slight  flush 
colored  her  pale  features,  and,  frankly  taking  his  hand, 
she  replied,  in  a  sweet,  timid  voice  : 

"  Yes,  dear  Charles,  there  is  more  than  one." 

"God  bless  you,  Evaline  !"  was  the  hearty  response. 
"  We  will  all  strive  to  make  you  happy  ;  and,  in  the  joy 
of  the  future,  you  will  ere  long  forget  the  past." 

"  Forget,  say  you  ?"  she  repeated,  looking  earnestly 
in  his  face.  "  Forget  the  past  ?  forget  my  old  friends  ? 
Nay,"  she  continued,  "you  know  not  yet  the  heart  of 
Prairie  Flower  if  you  think  she  can  ever  forget." 


2o6  FAREWELL    TO    THE  TRIBE. 


*No,  no,  not  exactly  forget,"  returned  Huntly,  en- 
deavoring to  recover  from  his  mistake;  **not  exactly 
forget ;  I  do  not  mean  that,  Evaline ;  but  rather  that 
you  will  cease  to  regret  this  change  of  life." 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  sighed. 

"  See  !"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  the  Indians  have  nearly  gained 
the  village,  and  the  inhabitants  are  already  flocking  down 
the  hill  to  meet  them.  Let  us  quicken  our  pace  ;"  and 
galloping  forward,  we  soon  drew  rein  in  the  center  of 
the  crowd. 

Leni  Leoti !"  "Prairie  Flower  !"  was  the  universal 
cry  on  every  hand,  as  Evaline  leaped  from  her  saddle 
and  sprung  to  the  embrace  of  her  Indian  friends,  who 
pressed  around  her  as  children  around  a  parent — old 
and  young — men,  women  and  children — each  eager  to 
be  the  first  to  greet  her  with  a  hearty  welcome. 

For  some  time  the  rest  of  us  remained  wholly  unno- 
ticed. 

At  length,  the  first  joyful  excitement  over,  Evaline 
pointed  to  us,  and  bade  the  Indians  give  us  welcome, 
which  they  did  in  a  hearty  manner. 

Approaching  Eva,  Evaline  took  her  by  the  hand  and 
said  : 

"  In  this  lady,  my  friends,  you  behold  the  sister  of 
Prairie  Flower." 

"  Another  Prairie  Flower  !"  "  Another  Leni  Leoti  !" 
were  the  almost  simultaneous  exclaimations  ;  and  in- 
stantly collecting  around,  they  gazed  upon  her  in  sur- 
prise, and  began  talking  to  each  other  in  their  own  dia- 
lect. Then,  one  after  another,  they  approached  and 
took  her  hand,  and  said  that  they  were  most  happy 
to  see  her,  and  that  she  was  welcome,  as  the  sister  of 
Prairie  Flower,  to  a  share  in  all  they  possessed. 

This  reception  over,  they  invited  us  to  the  village, 
where  everything  in  their  power  was  done  to  make  us 
comfortable  and  contented.  Our  animals  were  taken  in 
charge  and  liberated,  and  three  or  four  lodges  assigned 
to  us  during  our  stay  among  them. 

On  learning  that  Evaline  had  only  returned  to  bid 
them  a  final  farewell,  the  Wahsochees  one  and  all  be- 
came very  sad,  and  a  gloom  pervaded  the  village,  as  on 


FAREWELL    TO    THE    TRLBE.  207 


the  funeral  day  of  one  universally  beloved.  The  women 
and  children  wept  at  the  thought,  and  some  of  them 
begged  of  her  in  piteous  tones  not  to  leave  them.  Eva- 
line  could  not  witness  these  sincere  manifestations  of 
lasting  affection  unmoved,  and  in  consequence  her  eyes 
were  continually  filled  with  tears. 

As  it  had  been  arranged  that  we  should  leave  on  the 
following  morning,  she  was  kept  busy  through  the  day 
in  making  preparations  therefor.  Her  costume  for  dif- 
ferent occasions,  which  had  been  procured  for  her  by 
Great  Medicine,  and  which  she  had  preserved  with  great 
care,  together  with  sundry  other  articles  and  trinkets, 
some  of  which  she  had  purchased  in  Oregon  City  and 
brought  with  her,  she  now  proceeded  to  distribute,  one 
by  one,  giving  something  to  each  as  a  remembrance. 
This  occupied  her  time  and  attention  till  night,  when  a 
conference  of  the  nation  was  called,  to  which  none  of 
our  party  save  herself  was  admitted. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  our  horses  were 
caught  and  saddled,  our  two  mules  packed,  and  every- 
thing prepared  for  our  immediate  departure. 

Evaline  was  silent  and  sad,  and  her  features  showed 
traces  of  having  passed  a  feverish,  restless  night.  Think- 
ing she  might  feel  a  diffidence  in  having  us  present  at  her 
last  interview,  I  approached  her  and  said  : 

"  Evaline,  the  time  has  come  to  take  our  final  leave." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  faltered. 

"  As  there  are  some  strangers  in  our  party,  perhaps  it 
were  better,  all  things  considered,  that  we  should  go  on 
before,  and  await  your  coming  at  a  proper  distance  ?" 

"Thank  you  !"  she  replied  ;  "  the  very  favor  I  would 
have  asked." 

"  There  is  a  little  hill  you  see  yonder,  somewhat  out 
of  the  direct  course  to  the  fort,  whither  we  will  ride, 
merely  for  the  view  it  affords  of  the  prairie  beyond,  and 
there  remain  till  you  join  us." 

She  again  expressed  her  thanks,  and  I  returned  to  the 
others  and  informed  them  of  the  new  arrangement. 

We  then  proceeded  to  shake  hands  with  each  of  the 
tribe,  which  occupied  us  some  ten  minutes,  and,  mount- 
ing our  horses,  rode  slowly  away  down  the  mountain, 


2o8  FAREWELL    TO    THE  TRIBE. 


crossed  the  little  streamlet,  and  galloped  oyer  a  short 
level  to  the  hill  in  question,  on  whose  summit  we  came 
to  a  halt  as  preconcerted. 

It  was  a  warm  day,  and  the  sun,  about  an  hour  above 
the  horizon,  streamed  down  his  golden,  mellow  rays, 
beautifying  each  object,  by  giving  it  that  soft  and  dreamy 
appearance,  which,  in  the  poetic  mind,  awakens  those 
sweet  fancies  that  fill  the  soul  with  holy  meditation 
and  make  earth  seem  a  paradise.  A  heavy  dew  had  fallen 
during  the  night,  and  its  crystalline  drops,  still  hanging 
on  leaf,  blade,  and  flower,  sparkled  in  the  morning  sun- 
beams like  so  many  diamonds.  Above  us  gay  plumaged 
birds  flitted  from  branch  to  branch,  and  poured  forth 
their  morning  carols  in  a  variety  of  strains,  or,  flapping 
their  wings,  darted  up  and  away  through  the  deep  blue 
ether  Around  and  about  us  bees,  beetles,  and  insects 
of  divers  kinds  were  buzzing,  or  basking  m  the  sun- 
light now  dipping  into  the  flower  to  sip  its  sweets,  now 
alig-hting  on  the  leaf  to  take  a  dainty  morsel,  now 
pluns-ing  to  the  ground  with  no  apparent  design,  and 
then  each  and  all  up  and  away,  filling  the  air  with  a 
drowsy,  pleasing  hum. 

Not  the  least  enchanting  of  all  was  the  beautitui 
landscape  that  here  lay  spread  to  our  view.  Behind  us 
was  the  little  valley  we  had  just  crossed  over,  carpeted 
with  green  and  variegated  with  bright  flowers  through 
which  wound  a  silvery  streamlet,  and  beyond  which  like 
some  mighty  barrier,  the  Black  Hills  lifted  their  heads 
far  heavenward.  To  the  right  and  left,  at  some  lit  e 
distance,  was  a  wood,  over  the  top  of  which  loomed  hills 
one  above  another,  but  gradually  retreating,  till  txie  last 
one  far  far  in  the  distance,  either  showed  the  fleecy- 
like  palace  of  eternal  snow,  or  gently  blended  with  the 

cerulean  blue.  ^  .  ^   r-     j  u  i^ 

But  before  us  was  the  scene  which  fixed  our  whole 
attention.  Here,  for  miles  upon  miles,  stretched  away  a 
vast  prairie,  whose  tall,  rank  grass,  gently  touched  by  a 
li^ht  breeze,  undulated  like  the  swelling  of  the  sea  in  a 
calm  over  which  fluttered  and  hovered  myriads  of  birds 
and  'insects,  now  dipping  down,  skimming  along  the 
surface  and  disappearing  altogether,  and  anoa  soaring 


FAREWELL    TO    THE    TRIBE.  209 


upward,  cleaving  the  balmy  air,  and  displaying  their 
little  bodies  as  mere  specks  upon  the  blue  background. 
To  relieve  the  monotony  otherwise  attendant,  here  and 
there,  at  long  intervals,  rose  little  knolls,  clustered  with 
trees,  resembling  islands  pushing  up  from  the  glassy 
surface  of  a  tranquil  ocean.  And  away,  and  away,  and 
away  to  the  dim  distance,  stretched  this  same  sea-like 
prairie,  till  the  eye,  unable  to  trace  it  further,  saw  nothing 
but  the  soft  blending  of  earth  and  sky. 

For  some  moments  we  all  remained  silent,  gazing 
upon  the  scene  with  feelings  peculiar  to  each.  Lilian 
was  the  first  to  speak  : 

"Oh,  how  beautiful!"  she  exclaimed,  rapturously. 
"  How  beautiful  and  how  sublime  is  this  great  ocean  of 
earth  !" 

"  Ay,  sublime  indeed  !"  rejoined  Eva.  "  It  is  just  such 
a  scene  as  ever  fills  me  with  rapture— inspires  me  with 
the  sacred  feeling  of  poesy.  Oh  that,  like  one  of  those 
gay  birds,  I  could  wing  my  way  above  it !  Would  it  not 
be  deli2:htful,  Lilian?" 

"  Most  delightful  !"  answered  the  other. 

"  But  can  we  not  skim  its  surface  on  our  fleet  steeds  ? 
Come  !  for  a  ride  !  a  ride  !  What  say  you,  gentlemen  ?" 
she  added,  appealing  to  us. 

"So  pleasant  a  request,  from  so  fair  a  petitioner, 
must  needs  be  complied  with,"  returned  one  of  the  party, 
gallantly,  bowing  gracefully  to  Eva. 

The  speaker  was  a  young  man,  some  twenty-five  years 
of  age,  of  fine  person  and  good  address,  with  a  handsome 
and  prepossessing  countenance,  Avhereon  was  legibly 
stamped  frankness,  generosity  and  nobleness  of  soul. 
There  was  an  eloquence  in  his  soft,  dark  eye,  and  a  lofti- 
ness of  purpose  on  his  clear,  open  brow,  which  would  ^ 
have  ranked  him  far  above  the  many,  had  even  a  finished 
education,  of  which  he  was  possessed,  been  wanting.  To 
be  brief  in  my  remarks,  he  was  the  only  son  of  one  ot 
the  merchants  who  had  emigrated  from  the  State  of  New 
York  to  Oregon  City  during  the  previous  summer,  and 
one  of  the  party  who  had  so  far  been  our  companions  of 
the  long  journey.  He  was  now  on  his  way  East  to  ar- 
range some  unsettled  affairs  and  purchase  more  goods 
13 


2IO 


FAREWELL    TO    THE  TRIBE. 


for  his  father,  vith  the  design  of  returning  1°  0^eg°" 
the  following  season.  During  the  past  winter,  Elmer 
FUzgerald  (so  he  was  named)  had  once  or  tvvice  met  with 
EvaWtimer;  but  no  acquaintance  had  been  formed 
with  each  other  previous  to  both  parties  setting  forth  on 
The  nresent  iourney.  Being  daily  and  hourly  thrown  to- 
gether sSaing  alike  the  hardships  and  perils  of  -the 
^Uderness.  it  was  but  natural  that  between  two  such  ,n- 
rlivirtnals  of  refined  manners  and  cultivated  tastes,  tr-ere 
Sd  g;adually  spring  up  an  intimacy,  which  time  and 
circumstances  might  ripen  to  something  more. 

As  Elmer  spoke,  I  noticed  that  both  his  own  and  the 
count;nrnce'?f  Eva  slightly  flushed;  and  quickly  turn- 

inR  to  me,  the  latter  said  :  ^ 

And  what  say  you,  Francis  ?  „ 
« I  shall  echo  the  words  of  Mr  Fitzgerald 
'*Then  we  will  ^o!"  said  Lilian,  joyfully.  15ut, 
broth^-  shTaddedf  turning  to  Charles,  ;pu  appear 
gloomy  and  dejected.    Do  you  object  to  this  arrange 

Why,  to  speak  candidly,"  he  answered  seriously,  "I 

For  what  reason?"  I  inquired. 

"I  can  give  you  no  other  than_  what  I  told  you  last 
nio-ht — a  presentiment  of  danger."  j„„„„r 

"Pshaw  Charley,"!  rejoined,  "  there  is  no  danger 
here'  Thl' sadness  of  Evaline  has  made  you  gloomy 
and  a_^brisk  rfde  over  this  prairie  will  set  you  right 

^^""And  it  will  be  beneficial  to  dear  sister  Evaline  als<' 
chimtfin  Eva,  "by  diverting  her  thoughts  from  her 

P""'suinoursefv"fin  the  matter,"  rejoined  Huntly. 
"I  shali  oF course  do  as  the  rest.  I  "XlyXush'faC'- 
prehensions,  which,  after  all,  may  only  be  foolish  tan 

"  Lo  '  yonder  Evaline  comes  !"  cried  Lilian  ;  and 
•'■'cTX  toia'S'^^Ki.  ho™  and  rode  .w.y 


THE  PRAIRIE   ON  FIRE 


211 


to  meet  her,  and  presently  returned  in  her  company. 
She  was  sad  and  silent,  and  her  eyes  were  red  with  weep- 
ing, while  her  features  generally  showed  traces  of  having 
recently  passed  through  a  very  trying  scene. 

On  being  informed  of  our  present  design,  she  silently 
•  acquiesced  ;  and  liberating  our  mules,  that  they  might 
'  not  suffer  in  our  absence,  we  rode  slowly  down  to  the 
prairie,  and  set  off  at  a  gallop,  most  of  us  in  gay  spirits, 
with  the  understanding  that,  in  case  of  becoming  sepa- 
rated, we  should  all  meet  again  at  the  starting  point. 

Man  plans  and  God  performs.    That  meeting,  for 
some  of  the  party,  was  destined  never  to  take  place. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
THE  PRAIRIE  ON  FIRE.  * 

f^^^frnOR  an  hour  or  two  we  spurred  on  to  the  east- 
^^§1    ward,  iji  company,  through  the  tall  grass, 

which  brushed  our  feet  at  every  step  and 
^i^l&ll    made  our  horses  labor  exceedingly,  when  we 

(^ame  to  one  of  the  small  hills  or  knolls  pre- 
viously mentioned,  where  we  halted  to  give  our  panting 
and  foaming  steeds  a  few  minutes'  rest. 

This  knoll  was  clustered  with  beautiful  trees,  under 
whose  refreshing  shade  bubbled  up  a  spring  of  clear, 
cold  water,  with  which  we  first  refreshed  ourselves  and 
then  our  horses.  From  the  brow  of  this,  the  view  of 
everything  was  more  delightful  than  from  that  of  the 
one  we  had  left  behind  us.  Then  we  were  looking  on 
the  prairie  in  only  one  or  two  directions— now  we  stood 
above  and  surveyed  it  on  all  sides.  To  the  north  of  us 
was  a  small  ridge,  in  shape  resembling  an  ox-bow,  the 
southern  bend  of  which  was  about  five  miles  distant. 
This,  after  running  due  north  for  a  considerable  dis- 
tance, appeared  to  take  a  zig-zag  course  and  unite  with 


212 


THE   PRAIRIE   ON  FIRE. 


the  Black  Hills,  which,  sublime  in  their  grandeur, 
bounded  the  view  to  the  west.  To  the  south  and  east, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  stretched  away  and  away 
the  beautiful  prairie,  with  nothing  to  relieve  its  mono- 
tony but  an  occasional  knoll  like  the  one  on  which  we 
stood,  and  which  forcibly  reminded  me  of  the  oases  I  had 
seen  in  the  great  desert. 

"  Oh,  this  is  delightful — enchanting  !"  exclaimed  Eva, 
with  a  flush  of  animation.  "  This  is  what  I  love.  It  ex- 
pands the  soul,  and  bears  one  above  the  groveling 
thoughts  of  every  day  life.  Nature,"  she  added,  apos- 
trophizing, love  thee  in  thy  grandeur  and  thy  simplic- 
ity !  and  know,  as  I  gaze  upon  thee,  that  I  behold  the 
handiwork  of  that  Great  Power  above,  which  regulates 
alike  the  mighty  systems  of  ten  thousand  times  ten 
thousand  worlds  and  the  most  trifling  event  that  takes 
place  upon  them.  All  alike  move  by  a  universar  and 
immutable  law  ;  and  each,  as  it  were,  complete  in  itself, 
is  but  a  minor  part. of  that  great  machine  which  works 
for  one  almighty  and  incomprehensible  design.  Were  I 
a  poet  that  could  pen  my  thoughts,  I  would  seek  such  a 
place  as  this,  and,  alone,  away  from  the  discords  of  my 
fellow  beings,  write  such  inspiring  words,  that  ages  yet 
to  come  should  read  and  wonder  over  my  pages  and 
deem  them  the  outpourings  of  a  holy  inspiration." 

"Ay,  sister,"  cried  Evaline,  "thus  have  I  felt  a  thou- 
sand times  ;  and  thus  it  is  I  find  it  so  hard  for  me  to  part 
from  these  enrapturing  scenes.  Now  can  you  blame  me 
for  my  regrets  ?" 

"  No,  sweet  sister,"  answered  the  other,  "  I  do  not 
blame  you — far  from  it.  I  only  feel  you  are  a  gem  too 
rare  to  part  with." 

"And  so  think  we  all,"  I  rejoined;  "and  one  of  us 
at  least,  if  I  may  be  permitted  the  expression,  thinks 
doubly  so     and  I  glanced  at  my  friend. 

"Ay,  Frank,"  he  answered,  "treble  that  if  you  like. 
But  come,  my  friends,  the  day  is  advancing— had  we  not 
better  return  ?  They  will  look  anxiously  for  us  at  the 
fort." 

"  One  ride  more  first !"  said  Eva,  quickly.   "  I  cannot 


THE   FRAJRIE   ON  FIRE, 


213 


bear  to  quit  this  scene  forever  without  one  more  glori- 
ous ride." 

"  Whither  shall  it  be,  then  ?"  asked  Lilian. 
"  To  yonder  knoll      and  she  pointed  away  to  the 
eastward. 

"  That  is  far,"  rejoined  Huntly,  "and  I  fear  we  shall 
not  get  back  till  night,  and  the  day  will  be  lost." 

"Lost?"  echoed  Eva,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  anima- 
tion. "Call  you  such  a  day  as  this  lost?  Come,  gen- 
tlemen," she  added,  turning  to  the  rest  of  us,  "you  do 
not  think  so,  I'll  wager  !  On  !  let  us  on  !  I  dare  you  to 
a  race  !  and  my  glove  to  him  who  first  puts  foot  on  yon- 
der hill  in  advance  of  me." 

So  saying,  she  gracefully  waved  her  hand,  and,  tight- 
ening her  rein,  pressed  her  fiery  steed  down  the  declivity 
and  over  the  prairie  at  headlong  speed. 

"A  race!  a  race!  The  glove!  the  glove!"  cried 
some  half  a  dozen  voices  :  and  instantly  the  whole  party 
was  in  commotion. 

Those  who  chanced  to  be  dismounted,  at  once  sprung 
to  their  saddles,  and  all  dashed  away  after  their  fair 
champion,  who,  sitting  erect,  with  the  air  of  a  queen, 
was  now  urging  her  gallant  beast  to  do  his  utmost. 

Next  behind  Eva  rode  Elmer  Fitzgerald,  striving 
hard  to  overtake  her,  followed  by  Lilian,  myself,  and 
the  rest  of  the  party,  some  in  couples  and  others  alone, 
each  and  all  contending  to  be  first  at  the  far  off  goal.  I 
say  all,  but  I  must  except  Charles  and  Evaline,  who 
brought  up  the  rear  at  a  tardy  pace,  and  seemed  rather 
deliberately  following  us,  without  excitement  and  inter- 
est, than  taking  any  part  in  the  race. 

With  the  rest  of  us,  for  the  first  five  minutes,  the  con- 
test appeared  equal — neither  gaining  ground  on  the 
party,  nor  falling  away  from  the  position  he  had  taken 
at  the  setting-out.  All  was  life  and  excitement ;  and 
merry  shouts  and  gay  jests  rung  out,  as  on  we  pressed 
our  panting  steeds  through  the  tall  grass,  startling 
thousands  of  small  animals  from  their  quiet  retreats,  and 
scaring  up  flocks  of  birds,  which,  as  they  soared  away, 
twittered  their  discontent,  and  looked  down  upon  us 
with  wonder  and  fear.    On,  on  we  rushed,  completely 


SI4 


THE   PRAIRIE   ON  FIRE. 


lost  in  the  enlivening  chase,  and  heeding  nought  but  the 
^till  distant  eoal  we  were  striving  to  gain.  On,  on  .  stiii 
on  f  wUh  [h^fire  of  youthful  ambition  urging  us  to 


""ITlength  thrdifference  in  the  speed  of  our  horses 
begtn  to  ge  seen.  Eva  yet  kept  ber  pos.uomm  advance, 
bu?  was  gradually  losing  ground  ^  ''/au 

of  Elme?  Fitzgerald.  Lilian  and  I,  side  by  side,  stm 
managed  to  hold  our  own,  and  were  gaining  on  all  the 
Xrf  who  were  now  strung  out  in  a  long,  single  line 


Half"an  hour  passed,  and  the  change  in  our  previous 

dTmlTdTscernmy  iend  an^  Evalinl  slowly  bringing  up 
dimly  Q'SCMn  my  1  ^.^^^  despaired 

S'J^Ting'^treValtdC/n  withlrawn  from  the  con- 
test and  #ere  now  following  at  a  leisurely  P^^^e.  A  few 
yet  held  on.  but  only  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  we 

Fof  ^orrTuirte'r  ofan  hour  we  pushed  on  with 

i:?S.-ke^rt-E^^^^^^^^^ 

this  precaudon  ;  and,  on  our  coming  up  to  them,  the  lat- 

"f  suDDOse  as  we  have  distanced  all  the  others,  there 


turn. 


THE  PRAIRIE   ON  FIRE. 


215 


"  Pray  take  Mr.  Leighton's  advice,  Miss  Mortimer  !" 
urged  Fitzgerald  ;  "  for  it  is  a  long  distance  to  where  we 
left  our  mules,  and  our  horses  will  suffer  enough  at  the 
best."  ,  ^        .  ^      .  . 

"  Ay,  ay,  modest  sir  !"  exclaimed  Eva,  with  a  ringing 
laugh.  "I  understand.  You  wish  to  be  acknowledged 
victor  before  you  have  won.  By  my  faith,  sir,  I  had 
thought  you  possessed  of  more  spirit  than  that.  I  am 
willing  to  return,  for  that  matter  ;  but  I  cannot  yield  the 
glove  until  the  conditions  on  which  it  was  offered  are 
complied  with."  ^  ,  ,  , 

*'Then  the  glove  shall  be  mine,  if  I  have  to  make  the 
remainder  of  the  journey  alone  !"  cried  Elmer.  "  Do  not 
flatter  yourself.  Miss  Mortimer,  that  I  have  exerted  my- 
self thus  far  for  nothing.  The  prize  I  must  have  ;  I  insist 
upon  it ;  and  it  remains  for  you  to  say  " 

"Good  heavens  !  what  is  that?"  exclaimed  Lihan,  in- 
terrupting the  other,  and  pointing  toward  the  south. 

We  all  turned  our  eyes  in  the  direction  indicated,  and 
beheld,  stretching  along  the  horizon,  what  appeared  to  be 
a  dense,  black,  rolling  cloud.  ^ 

"  A  heavy  thunder  storm  is  approaching,"  said  Fitz- 
gerald in  reply,  "  and  we  stand  a  fair  chance  of  being 
thoroughly  drenched."  ,  .      ^     t  1 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  rejoined  I ;  "for  I  have 
never  seen  a  cloud  of  such  singular  appearance.  See  ! 
how  it  gradually  creeps  away  to  the  right  and  left !" 

"  And  there  are  bright  flashes,  too  !"  exclaimed  Eva, 
breathless  with  intense  excitement. 

''What  is  it?  what  is  it?"  cried  Lilian,  grasping  my 
arm  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  gazing  upon  the  scene 
with  a  pale,  terrified  look.  "  It  is  not  a  cloud— it  cannot 
be  a  cloud— it  is  something  more  awful.  See  !  see  !  how 
fast  it  spreads  I   And  there  !  there !   mark  you  those 

flashes?"  n    1  , 

Suddenly  the  whole  horrible  truth  flashed  upon  me, 
and  for  the  moment  held  me  dumb  with  terror. 

"  You  are  pale  with  alarm  !"  pursued  Lilian,  turning 
to  me  and  noting  the  agonized  expression  of  my  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Speak,  Francis  !  what  is  it  ?"  cried  Eva.^ 


2l6 


THE  PRAIRIE   ON  FIRE, 


"Merciful  God  !"  I  gasped  ;  "the  prairie  is  on  fire ! 
We  are  lost  ! — our  doom  is  sealed  !" 

"  Lost  ?"  shrieked  Lilian  and  Eva. 

"Oh,  God  I  is  there  no  escape?"  added  the  latter, 
wildly.    "  We  must— we  must  escape  !" 

"Flight— flight  alone  can  save  us!"  shouted  Fitz- 
gerald.   "  Let  us  try  for  yonder  hill  !   It  is  our  only 

As  he  spoke,  he  spurred  his  steed,  struck  Eva  s  with 
his  bridle  rein,  and  away  bounded  both  with  all  the  speed 
in  their  power. 

"Follow!"  cried  I  to  Lilian,  imitating  the  example 
of  the  other,  and,  in  the  wild  excitement  of  the  moment, 
completely  losing  all  my  wonted  presence  of  mind. 
"  Follow  hard— strain  every  nerve— and  God  vouchsafe 
us  victory  !"  t  ^ 

It  was  no  longer  a  race  of  pleasure,  but  one  ot  tear- 
ful ao-ony— our  lives  the  stake,  and  heavy  odds  against 
us.  Can  I  describe  it,  reader  ?— describe  our  leelings  in 
those  awful  moments  of  horrible  suspense?  No!  it  is 
beyond  the  strength  of  the  pen— the  power  of  language 
—and  must  be  left  to  your  imagination. 

Four  miles,  at  the  least— four  long  and  seemingly  in- 
terminable miles— intervene  between  us  and  our  desti- 
nation. Can  we  reach  it  ?  We  have  but  little  hope.  On, 
on  we  urge,  with  whip  and  spur,  our  already  drooping 
horses— and  on,  on  comes  the  mighty  destroyer,  as  if 
sent  to  execute  the  long  pent  up  vengeance  of  an  of- 
fended God !  ,  u  <- 

Away  to  the  south,  stretching  from  the  east  to  the  west, 
and  Wishing  toward  the  north,  with  the  fury  of  a  de- 
vastating tornado,  comes  this  terrific  Avenger,  sweeping 
all  in  his  course  ;  making  all  black  and  desolate  which  a 
few  minutes  since  had  seemed  so  lovely;  rolling  up  to 
the  very  dome  of  Heaven  his  huge  volumes  of  smoke, 
of  gij^antic  and  hideous  shapes,  with  red  sheets  of  flame 
issuing  from  its  appalling  blackness,  as  if  they  were  the 
burning  tongues  and  eyes  of  unchained  demons,  so 
shaped  by  our  wild  and  distorted  imaginations 

Qn  !  on  ! — how  our  horses  snort,  and  foam,  ani 
tremble !    They  have  caught  our  fears,  and  are  doing 


THE   PRAIRIE    ON  FIRE. 


217 


their  utmost  to  save  us  and  themselves  !  On  !  on  !  on  ! 
— two  miles,  thank  God,  are  passed  ! — but,  alas  !  there 
are  two  more  before  us,  and  our  gallant  beasts  are  already- 
beginning  to  falter  with  fatigue  !  On  !  on  !— behold  our 
terrible  foe  advance!  his  fiery  banners  streaming  up 
brighter,  redder  and  still  brighter,  as  he  nears  us  !~his 
ten  thousand  scorching  and  blasting  tongues,  hissing, 
roaring  and  destroying  every  living  thing  that  comes 
within  their  reach  ! 

Oh  !  how  sublime — how  awfully  sublime — this  specta- 
cle !  on  which  we  rivet  our  fascinated  eyes  ;  while  our 
hearts  leap  to  our  throats,  and  our  lips  are  compressed 
with  an  indescribable  fear  ! 

Now  listen  to  those  apparently  unearthly  sounds ! 
The  prairie  is  alive  with  millions  of  voices — which  fancy 
would  give  to  the  fiery  tongues  of  this  rushing  Monster, 
as  the  cheering  song  of  his  death-dealing  advance — but 
which  stern  reality  tells  us  are  the  frantic  cries  of  droves 
and  herds  of  wild  animals,  of  all  species,  mad  with 
affright,  all  pressing  forward  together,  pell-mell,  to 
escape  one  common,  but  ever  conquering,  enemy  ! 

Look  yonder  !  There  goes  a  stampede  of  buffaloes. 
Yonder  !  Another  of  wild  horses.  How  they  tear  ahead, 
with  foaming  mouths,  expanded  nostrils,  dilated  eyes, 
and  a  tread  that  makes  the  very  earth  tremble  beneath 
them  ! 

Look  closer — nearer  !  Here — here  they  come  ! — 
above  us,  before  us,  behind  us,  beneath  us — on  all  and 
every  side — birds,  beasts,  reptiles  and  insects  !  How  the 
animals  dart  athwart  our  course,  now  with  lolling 
tongues,  and  fiery  eyes  half  starting  from  their  sockets, 
entangling  the  very  legs  of  our  horses,  and  causing  them 
to  rear,  and  plunge,  and  snort,  and  shriek  with  appalling 
terror  ! 

God  of  Heaven  !  what  a  scene  ! 

On  !  on  !  for  our  only  hope  !  Another  mile  is  passed  ; 
oh  !  that  it  were  another — the  last !  We  near  the  haven 
of  our  safety.  Can  we,  shall  we,  ever  reach  it?  Behold 
the  Destroyer,  where  he  comes  !  Up,  up  to  the  mid 
heaven  now  rolls  the  smoke  of  his  conquest  !  and  the  sun 


2l8 


THE   FRAIRIE   ON  FIRE, 


grows  dark  behind  it,  as  if  mourning  for  the  destruction 
he  is  forced  to  look  upon. 

Hark  !  what  sound  is  that  ?— that  roaring  sound  ?  It 
is  the  voice  of  the  Fire-Fiend,  mocking  our  hopes  !  Must 
we  die  now,  with  safety  almost  within  our  grasp?  Why 
do  our  horses  stagger  and  reel  ?  Have  they  not  strength 
for  this  last  effort?  See!  we  are  almost  saved!  Yon 
hill  looms  up  invitingly  before  us  !  On  !  for  strength  of 
another  five  minutes'  duration  !  Five  minutes— only  five 
— an  eternitv  to  us. 

Ha '  the  dense  smoke  is  lowering  upon  us,  and  we 
shall  be  suffocated!  No!  that  breeze  drives  it  back! 
All  thanks  to  God  for  that !    There  is  still  hope  ! 

On  !  on  !— still  on  !  How  swift  is  the  flame,  and  how 
tardy  our  horses  !  They  have  no  spirit !  They  only 
creep  and  crawl  like  snails  !  My  fortune  all  to  hold 
out  another  two  minutes  ! 

Ha  !  God  help  us  now  !  Lilian's  steed  reels— totters 
—stumbles— falls  !  She  is  down  !  I  hear  her  shriek  for 
help  '  How  strangely  that  shriek  mingles  with  the  roar- 
ing and  crackling  of  this  great  prairie  tire  !  Now  on  my 
feet  I  seize  her  hand  !  Now  my  horse  staggers  under 
a  double  weight !  But  he  is  a  gallant  beast  ;  he  bravely 
struo-gles  to  the  last ;  and  plunging  forward,  with  a  dying 
effonrhe  falls  at  the  base  of  the  knoll,  which  Elmer  and 
Eva  have  gained  in  advance  of  us.  One  desperate  effort 
more,  and  Lilian,  all  unconscious  of  fear  and  danger,  is 
borne  in  my  arms  into  a  dense  thicket,  where  I  sink  upon 
the  earth,  and,  half  stifled  with  smoke,  amid  the 
roaring  of  a  mighty  conflagration,  thank  God  its  flames 
can  neither  reach  me  nor  the  being  I  love ! 


PAINFUL  SUSPENSE. 


219 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

PAINFUL  SUSPENSE,  GLOOM  AND  DREAD. 

O  tongue  can  portray  my  feelings,  my  deep 
emotions  of  gratitude  to  the  All-wise  Pre- 
server, as,  with  the  still  unconscious  Lilian 
reposing  in  my  arms,  I  remained  motionless 
a  minute,  enveloped  in  a  pall  of  smoky  dark- 
ness, listening  to  the  roar  of  the  awful  flames,  that  surged 
around  and  onward,  scorching  the  green  leaves  and  grass 
within  a  few  feet,  but  leaving  me  unharmed.  Once,  for 
a  moment,  w^hen  the  smoke  settled  in  so  thick  that  day 
became  night,  and  the  air  too  much  heated  for  respiration, 
I  fancied  we  might  die  of  suffocation.  But  it  was  only 
for  a  moment.  A  draught  of  wind  revived  me,  and 
lifted  the  smoke,  which  rolled  away  in  mighty  masses 
after  its  master  spirit,  the  devouring  element ;  while  day- 
light, again  streaming  in  through  the  interwoven 
branches  of  this  beautiful  retreat,  made  my  heart  bound 
with  rapture  at  our  safe  deliverance. 

Lilian  now  opened  her  eyes,  and  for  an  instant  gazed 
upon  me  with  a  bewildered  expression.    I  strained  her 
to  my  heart,  pressed  my  lips  to  hers,  and  whispered  : 
"  We  are  saved,  dearest !" 

"  Saved  she  echoed  :  "  Saved  ?  Then  it  was  not  a 
horrible  dream,  but  a  frightfully  hideous  reality,  at  the 
thought  of  which  the  soul  sickens  and  grows  faint  !" 

"  All  that  language  has  power  to  depict  of  the  awful, 
it  was,  and  a  thousand  times  more  !" 

"  Lilian  !  Francis  !"  now  called  the  voice  of  Eva  ;  and 
springing  though  the  bushes,  accompanied  by  Elmer,  she 
rushed  up  to  her  fair  friend,  threw  her  arms  around  her 
neck,  and  each  wept  tears  of  joy  in  the  other's  embrace. 

"But  Evaline  and  Charles — what  of  them?"  cried 
Eva,  looking  up,  pale  with  alarm. 

"  Gracious  God  !"  cried  1  ;  "what  of  them  indeed  !" 
for  in  the  frantic  bewilderment  of  the  last  few  minutes, 


220 


PAINFUL  SUSPENSE. 


all  thought  of  everything  but  escape  from  death  had 
been  driven  from  my  mind.  "Perhaps  they  have  per- 
ished !  Great  God  !  what  a  thought  !  To  the  brow  of 
the  hill  led  us  speed  at  once !" 

As  I  spoke,  we  all  rushed  up  the  acclivity,  and  soon 
gained  a  point  whence  we  could  gaze  upon  the  desolated 
scene. 

What  a  fearful  change  a  few  minutes  had  wrought  ! 
Where,  a  short  time  since,  all  was  life  and  beauty — the 
tall  grass  softly  undulating  to  the  light-winged  zephyr 
— we  now  beheld  only  a  black,  smoking,  dismal  waste, 
without  a  sign  of  living  thing  to  relieve  its  gloom.  The 
fire  had  passed  us  entirely  ;  but  away  to  the  north,  and 
stretching  east  and  west  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
spread  a  dense  cloud  of  rolling  smoke,  amid  which  we 
could  perceive  the  lurid  flashes  of  the  death-dealing  vic- 
tor, as  on,  on  he  sped,  seeking  new  victims  to  feed  his 
insatiable  maw.  Here  and"  there,  in  every  direction  on 
his  smoking  trail,  were  strewn  the  blackened  carcasses 
of  such  animals  as  had  been  overtaken  in  their  flight. 
At  the  foot  of  the  hill  whereon  we  stood,  in  the  exact 
spot  where  he  had  fallen,  lay  the  remains  of  the  gallant 
beast  which  had  borne  me  through  so  many  perils,  and 
which,  at  the  very  last,  had  saved  my  life  at  the  expense 
of  his  own.  A  few  rods  further  on  was  the  one  Lilian 
had  ridden,  now  an  ungainly  mass  of  blackened  flesh. 
Altogether,  it  was  an  appalling  scene  of  desolation,  that 
made  the  heart  sick  to  look  upon. 

All  these  things  I  took  in  at  a  glance,  but  without 
dwelling  upon  them  for  a  moment.  One  wild,  madden- 
ing thought  alone  occupied  my  brain.  My  friend  and 
Evaline — were  they  lost  or  saved  ?  What  a  torturing 
uncertainty,  where  nothing  could  be  known  !  I  strained 
my  eyes,  and  vainly  strove  to  penetrate  the  sable  vail 
which  curtained  the  view  to  the  north  and  west.  All 
there  was  wrapped  in  the  frightful  gloom  of  impenetra- 
ble darkness.  They  might  be  living,  but  even  now  in 
the  agonies  of  a  most  terrible  death  !  and  I  groaned,  and 
shuddered,  and  felt  my  brain  grow  dizzy  and  my  heart 
sicken  at  the  bare  possibility. 

For  some  minutes  we  all  stood  and  stared  as  if  rooted 


PAINFUL  SUSPENSE. 


221 


to  the  spot,  pale  and  speechless  with  the  agony  of  sus- 
pense. At  length  the  smoke  began  to  clear  away  be- 
rween  us  and  the  point  from  whence  we  had  set  out  for 
the  race.  Alas  !  it  brought  no  hope,  but  rather  despair. 
All,  as  elsewhere,  was  black  and  lifeless,  and  we  felt  our 
doubts  removed  by  the  worst  of  certainties. 

"  Oh,  fatal  day!"  cried  Eva,  wringing  her  hands; 
"and  most  fatal  adventure!  Ohj  God!  my  sister  and 
friend  lost  !  and  all  through  my  rashness  !  Strong-headed 
and  giddy,  I  would  not  heed  his  foreboding  counsels,  but 
madly  rushed  away,  dragging  him  to  his  own  death! 
May  God  in  his  mercy  forgive  me  !  for  I  can  never  for- 
give myself  !  Never — no,  never — shall  I  be  happy 
again  !" 

"Nay,  dearest  Eva,"  said  Lilian,  consolingly,  twining 
her  arms  around  the  other's  neck  ;  "  nay,  my  dear  sister 
— for  a  sister  to  me  you  seem — do  not  reproach  yourself 
thus!  You  were  to  blame  in  this  no  more  than  I,  or  the 
rest.  You  knew  not,  dreamed  not,  there  was  danger — 
neither  did  any  of  us — and  the  forebodings  of  Charles 
were  merely  vague  fancies  without  even  a  foundation. 
Had  he  warned  us  of  certain  danger  known  to  himself 
then  we  might  have  been  considered  rash  in  disregarding 
his  counsel.  As  it  is,  I  feel  we  have  been  only  the 
blind  instruments  in  the  hands  of  the  Almighty  for  work- 
ing out  one  of  His  mysterious  designs.  But  do  not  let 
us  despair  !  I  still  have  hope  that  Charles  and  Evaline 
are  safe.  They  were  far  behind  us,  and  it  is  possible  may 
have  turned  back  and  gained  yonder  hill  in  safety." 

"  God  send  it  be  so  !"  ejaculated  I,  "  though  I  have  my 
fears.  But,  Eva,"  I  added,  "  I  insist  you  do  not  blame 
yourself !   If  any  one  is  to  blame,  it  is  I." 

"  You,  Francis?  But  you  merely  say  this  to  console  > 
me." 

"  Nay,  I  will  prove  it.  But  for  my  plan,  we  should  all 
ere  this  have  been  far  on  our  w-ay  to  Fort  Laramie.  It 
was  I  who  proposed  to  Evaline  that  we  should  leave  her 
alone  with  her  friends,  and  designated  the  spot  whither 
we  would  ride  and  await  her.  It  was  I  that  made  light 
of  the  presentiment  of  Huntly,  and  scoffed  at  liij  idea  of 
danger.    So  blame  not  yourself,  Eva !   Heaven  knows 


222 


PAINFUL  SUSPENSE, 


the  blow  falls  heavy  enough  upon  us  all,  without  the  ad- 
ditional weight  of  either  one  thinking  it  the  result  of  his 
or  her  individual  misdoing." 

Ay,"  rejoined  Elmer,  "  so  think  I.  If  one  is  to 
blame,  all  are — but,  in  my  opinion,  none  are  at  fault  ; 
and  certainly  not  you.  Miss  Mortimer." 

But  I  will  not  follow  in  detail  our  gloomy  conversa- 
tion, nor  longer  dwell  upon  our  feelings.  Suffice,  that 
for  something  like  an  hour  we  stood  watching  the  fire,  as 
on  it  rushed,  away  and  away  to  the  dim  distance,  leaving 
behind  it  the  most  dismal  scene  I  had  ever  beheld. 

Another  hour  passed,  and  still  we  stood  in  the  self- 
same spot,  uncertain  what  course  to  pursue.  We  had 
eagerly  scanned  every  object,  and  strained  our  eyes  in 
every  direction,  in  the  hope  of  being  rejoiced  by  the 
sight  of  one  living  thing.  But  the  hope  proved  falla- 
cious. All  was  silent,  and  black,  and  motionless,  on  this 
great  field  of  death  and  desolation. 

But  what  should  be  done?  was  now  the  all  important 
question  !  The  earth  was  still  smoking  with  heat ;  and 
the  sun,  in  mid-heaven,  was  pouring  down  his  scorching 
rays,  with  scarcely  a  reviving  breath  of  air;  so  that  we 
could  not  venture  from  our  shady  retreat  with  any 
safety.  Besides,  but  two  of  our  horses  had  been  spared, 
and  these  were  so  exhausted  as  to  be  of  no  service  to 
us  for  the  day  at  least. 

How  long  the  earth  would  remain  heated,  we  could 
not  tell  ;  but  in  all  probability  till  the  day  should  be- 
come too  far  advanced  for  us  to  gain  another  safe  point 
ere  nightfall ;  in  which  event  we  might  again  be  in  im- 
minent danger  from  the  ravenous  beasts  that  might  come 
with  the  darkness  to  prey  upon  the  half-burnt  carcasses 
of  their  fellows.  In  view  of  all  this,  there  appeared  no 
alternative  but  to  remain  where  we  were  over  night, 
and  make  the  best  of  the  circumstances  we  could  not 
alter. 

This,  after  the  proposal,  discussion  and  final  rejection 
of  several  plans,  was  at  last  reluctantly  consented  to  ; 
when  Elmer  and  myself  immediately  set  about  con- 
structing a  rude  lodge  for  Lilian  and  Eva ;  who,  to 
their  praise  be  it  said,  bore  their  misfortunes  with  a  firm, 


PAINFUL  SUSPENSE. 


223 


•patient  and  heroic  resignation,  that  would  have  won  our 
admiration,  even  had  we  in  every  other  respect  been 
wholly  indifferent  to  their  many  noble  charms. 

Our  present  asylum  was  a  beautiful  and  romantic 
spot,  of  some  half  a  dozen  acres  in  extent,  watered  by  a 
fine  spring,  shaded  with  trees,  and  carpeted  with  a  velvet- 
like sward  of  sweet,  green  grass,  interspersed  with  white, 
red,  purple,  yellow  and  gold-colored  flowers.  In  short, 
it  seemed  a  Garden  of  Eden  on  an  arid  waste  ;  and  had 
our  friends  been  with  us,  or  even  had  we  been  assured  of 
their  safety,  we  could  have  spent  the  night  here  with 

pleasure.  ,     .  ,  , 

With  our  hunting-knives  we  cut  several  withes  ;  and 
then,  bending  down  a  few  saplings,  we  bound  them 
together  so  as  to  form  a  regular  arbor,  which  we  roofed 
over  with  bushes,  leaves  and  turf,  sufficient  to  keep  ofi 
the  dew  at  least.  With  our  pistols,  which  we  fortunately 
had  with  us,  we  pushed  about  through  the  bushes,  and 
were  successful  in  scaring  up  and  shooting  some  two  or 
three  hares,  which  we  dressed  and  cooked,  and  found  very 
palatable— the  more  so,  perhaps,  that  we  had  eaten 
nothing  since  morning— our  provisions  for  the  journey 
having  been  left  with  our  mules. 

During  the  day  we  saw  nothing  of  our  companions  ; 
and  as  night  slowly  shut  in  the  scene,  we  gradually  began 
to  lose  the  faint  hope  that  had  thus  far  been  our  consola- 
tion. True,  if  saved,  the  same  cause  which  prevented  us, 
might  also  them,  from  venturing  forth  upon  what  seemed 
almost  certain  destruction.  Bui  there  was  no  certainty — 
no,  scarcely  a  possibility— that  they  had  escaped;  and 
this  torturing  thought,  added  to  our  lonely  situation  and 
the  surrounding  gloom,  made  us  wretched  with  despair. 

Oh  !  what  an  awful  night  was  this  we  passed  in  the 
wilderness  !  One  which,  were  we  to  live  a  thousand 
years,  would  ever  be  a  yesterday  to  us,  so  deeply  and 
painfully  was  it  engraven  upon  the  tablets  of  our  memo- 
ries !  To  add  gloom,  as  it  were,  to  accumulated  horrors, 
a  dark,  angry  cloud  began  to  spread  along  the  western 
horizon,  from  which  shot  vivid  flashes  of  lightning,  fol- 
lowed by  the  booming  roar  of  heavy  thunder,  as  if  the 
spirits  of  the  air,  bent  on  making  "assurance  doubly 


224 


PAINFUL  SUSPENSE. 


sure,"  were  now  marshaling  their  grand  reserve-forces  to 
triumph  over  a  vanquished  foe. 

On,  on  came  the  Storm-King,  flinging  out  his  black  ban- 
ners in  advance,  and  vailing  tue  light  of  Heaven's  starry- 
host,  as  if  unwilling  one  single  thing  should  be  left  un- 
done to  make  his  triumph  most  dismally,  impressively- 
terrible !  On,  on  he  came,  amid  the  almost  incessant 
flashes  and  thunders  of  his  mighty  artillery  !  ' 

Huddled  together  in  our  rude  arbor,  before  which 
blazed  a  lurid,  flickering  flame,  that  gave  our  pale  fea- 
tures an  unearthly  appearance,  and  made  our  grim  shad- 
ows dance  fantastically  behind  us,  like  dark  spirits  in  a 
weird  revel,  we  sat  and  gazed  upon  vacancy,  silent  with 
emotions  too  deep  for  utterance. 

Now  the  storm  was  at  its  height.  Sheet  upon  sheet  of 
the  hot  lightning,  flashing  in  our  faces,  blinded  our  eyes; 
peal  upon  peal  of  crashing  thund^er,  shaking  the  earth 
beneath,  almost  deafened  us  with  its  roar;  while  the 
rain,  pouring  down  in  torrents,  thoroughly  drenched  and 
stiffened  our  cramped  up  bodies  and  limbs. 

For  two  hours  thus  we  remained  in  breathless  awe, 
motionless  and  silent,  ere  the  storm  abated  its  fury  ;  and 
then  only,  as  it  were,  that  we  might  hear  the  bowlings  of 
surrounding  wolves ;  which,  to  our  distorted  fancies, 
seemed  the  loud  wailings  of  the  damned  over  the  final 
wreck  of  Nature. 

Serenely  the  morning  broke  upon  the  night,  and  the 
sun  again  rose  as  bright  and  golden  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  Never  was  a  day  hailed  with  more  joy. 
With  the  first  streak  of  light  we  caught  our  two  overridden 
horses,  and  found  to  our  great  delight  that  they  were  still 
capable  of  performing  a  heavy  task.  Mounting  two  on 
each,  we  set  out  over  the  blackened  plain  to  retrace  our 
steps,  and  if  possible  gain  some  tidings  of  our  friends. 

For  an  hour  or  more  we  saw  nothing  to  attract  par- 
ticular attention  ;  when  suddenly  Eva  uttered  a  fearful 
shriek,  and,  pointing  to  an  object  before  us,  cried  : 

"  My  God  !  look  on  that !" 

We  did  look,  with  dilated  eyes,  and  felt  our  blood 
freeze  with  horror.  It  was  the  blackened  and  mangled 
corpse  of  a  human  being — probably  the  remains  of  one  of 


PAINFUL  SUSPENSE. 


225 


our  companions  of  the  previous  day.  A  few  feet  from 
it  lay  the  half-eaten  carcass  of  a  horse,  too  fatally  confirm- 
ing our  suspicions.  .     1    ,     u   1  c 

Elmer  and  I  dismounted  and  examined  the  body  ot 
the  unfortunate  young  man  ;  but  all  trace  by  which  we 
might  identify  it  was  lost ;  and  with  a  sickening  shudder 
and  trembling  steps  we  passed  on,  with  such  feelings  as 
none  can  ever  more  than  faintly  imagine. 

About  a  mile  from  this  we  came  upon  the  carqass  of 
another  horse,  beside  which  lay  the  stirrups  of  a  saddle, 
several  scraps  of  burnt  leather,  and,  oh  God!  another 

human  body  !  ,  ,  .  u- 

''Another  victim  !"  groaned  Fitzgerald,  covering  his 
eyes  to  shut  out  the  hideous  spectacle.    "  Who  next  T 

"  Great  God  !"  gasped  I  ;  "  should  the  next  be  Charles 
and  Evaline  !  But  come,  Fitzgerald  !  this  is  a  trial  un- 
fitted for  ladies.  See  !  both  Lilian  and  Eva  seem  ready 
to  fall  from  their  horses  !  Let  us  mount  and  away,  and 
take  them  from  this  awful  scene.  If  we  gain  no  tidings 
of  our  friends  when  we  reach  the  Wahsochees,  we  will 
at  least  get  some  of  them  to  assist  us  in  the  painful  task 
of  searching  for  their  remains." 

Shaping  our  course  more  to  the  right,  we  rode  away 
over  the  plain,  fearful  to  look  beneath  our  feet,  lest  our 
eyes  might  chance  upon  another  revolting  spectacle. 

In  the  course  of  a  couple  of  hours  we  had  passed  the 
first  hill,  leaving  it  away  to  our  left,  and  were  fast  near- 
ing  the  second,  the  point  from  whence  we  had  first  viewed 
the  beautiful  prairie,  in  all  the  enchantment  of  its  love- 
liness, only  the  morning  previous,  and  which  we  had  fixed 
on  for  our  rendezvous  in  case  of  becoming  separated— 
little  dreaming,  in  our  merry  thoughtlessness,  of  the 
mighty  calamity  hanging  over  us,  and  that  grim  Death  ^ 
was  even  then  invisibly  stalking  in  our  midst  to  select 
his  victims. 

Suddenly  Lilian  exclaimed  : 

"God  be  thanked!  they  live!"  and,  overcome  with 
joyful  emotions,  she  could  only  point  her  finger  and 
faintly  add :    "See  !  see !"  ,  j 

"Ay,  thank  God,"  cried  I,  "they  are  saved!  and 
I  po'.nted  to  Charles  and  Evaline,  whom  we  now  descried 


226  HOME   AT  LAST. 

rushing  down  the  hill  before  us,  followed  by  some  fifteen 
or  twenty  of  the  Mysterious  Tribe.  ,u^^ 
Five  minutes  later  we  stood  clasping  each  other, 
weeping  and  speechless  with  joy. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
HOME  AT  LAST. 

T  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  dwell  upon  this 
rapturous  meeting,  one  of  the  most  joyful  1 
had  ever  experienced.  No  one  can  conceive 
our  feelings  but  such  as  have  been  placed  m 

  like  situations.    Each  party  had  looked  upon 

the  other  as  dead,  and  mourned  their  l^^^/^^Jrafi^^^^^ 
and  it  was  with  tears  of  gratitude 

from  an  awful  fate,  that  we  narrated  to  each  other  the 
manner  of  escape. 

That  of  Charles  and  Evaline  was  as  follows  : 
At  the  time  ihey  discovered  the  fire  they  were  some 
miles  in  our  rear,  and  far  behind  the  rest  of  the  par  y. 
Made  aw^  of  their  dange,  they  sought  to  avert  .t  by 
flic^ht  ;  and  as  the  hill  behind  them  was  the  nearest 
elevated  point,  they  had  striven  to  gam  it  in  advance  of 
the  flamed.  lA  thi^s  they  had  been  d.sappouUed  The 
fire  driven  by  a  strong  breeze  of  its  own  c.  eating,  rushed 
f.  riva  d  with  such  frightful  velocity  th.t,  when  w  thin 
a  mile  or  so  of  the  desirable  point,  they  ""nd  to  the 
dismay  and  horror,  all  hope  of  escape  in  that  quarter  cut 

"^•"Imagine  my  feelings,"  said  Huntly  as  he  told  me 
the  tal™  ''when:  all  hop?  of  escape  over,  I  threw  my  arm 
a "und'the  waist  of  Ev^aline,  and,  pointing  to  the  1  ames 
which  driven  forward  by  a  strong  breeze  had  already 
passed  the  hiU  to  the  westward  and  were  fast  sweeping 


HOME  AT  LAST. 


227 


around  to  enclose  it  with  a  fiery  wall— when,  I  say,  view- 
\w^r  all  this,  with  the  calmness  of  utter  despair,  I  said  : 
'  At  least, dear  Evaliae,  we  will  die  together.' 

" '  Rather  say  live  together,'  she  exclaimed,  *  if  you 
have  any  means  of  striking  fire.' 
Only  a  pistol,' I  replied. 

"'That  will  do,'  she  answered.  'Quick  !  let  us  dis- 
mount, tear  up  the  grass  around  us,  and  fire  it.' 

"In  an  instant,"  pursued  Huntly,  I  comprehended 
all  ;  and  springing  from  my  horse,  with  hope  renewed,  I 
labored  as  a  man'  may  when  his  own  life  and  that  of 
another  more  precious  are  depending  on  his  exertions. 
In  two  minutes  a  small  spot  was  cleared  ;  and,  placing 
my  pistol  within  a  bunch  of  torn  up  grass,  I  fired.  The 
flash  ignited  it  ;  and  a  bright  flame,  shooting  upward, 
caught  on  all  sides,  and  sped  away  on  its  work  of  death, 
leaving  a  blackened  circle,  within  which  we  stepped  and 
remained  unharmed.  As  soon  as  the  fire  had  passed,  we 
remounted  and  dashed  over  the  heated  earth  to  the  hill 
before  us,  where,  like  yourselves,  we  passed  a  terrible 
night  of  agonized  suspense.  Not  having  seen  any  signs 
of  you  or  the  rest  of  the  party  during  the  day,  we  finally 
came  to  the  melancholy  conclusion  that  all  were  lost, 
and  at  daybreak  this  morning  set  off  for  the  Indian  village 
with  the  heart-rending  intelligence.  Some  twenty  of  the 
tribe  at  once  volunteered  to  go  back  with  us ;  and  on 
this  sad  journey  we  had  already  set  out,  when,  to  o_ur 
unspeakable  joy,  we  espied  you  coming  over  the  plain, 
and  hastened  to  meet  you." 

"Strange,"  said  I,  in  reply,  "that  I  should  have  over- 
looked a  means  of  escape  so  simple  as  firing  the  prairie  ! 
It  would  have  saved  a  world  of  trouble  ;  but  from  the 
first  I  lost  my  presence  of  mind,  and  thought  of  nothing 
but  escape  by  flight.  Alas  for  our  companions !  Have 
you  seen  any  of  them,  Charles  ?" 

"  Not  one,"  he  answered,  with  a  sigh. 
"Then  I  fear  all  have  perished!" 

"  What  are  we  to  do  under  the  circumstances  ?"  he  in- 
quired. ^  T 

"  Why,  I  think  we  had  better  set  out  for  Fort  Laramie 


228 


HOME  AT  LAST. 


at  once;  for  our  friends  there,  even  now,  are  doubtless 
becoming  exceedingly  uneasy  at  our  long  absence." 

"And  leave  the  bones  of  our  late  companions  to 
bleach  on  the  open  prairie,  Frank  ?" 

"No!  We  must  get  the  Indians  to  hunt  up  their 
bodies  and  give  them  decent  burial." 

This  plan  was  finally  adopted  ;  and  in  the  course  of  a 
couple  of  hours  we  had  again  parted  from  the  Wah- 
sochees  and  were  on  our  return  to  the  fort. 

The  journey  proved  a  tedious  one,  for  all  were  sad 
and  silent  with  gloomy  thoughts.  Traveling  some  thir- 
ty miles  we  encamped  ;  and  resuming  our  route  the  next 
morning,  we  reached  the  fort  in  the  afternoon  of  the 

same  day.  ,  ,  j 

As  we  rode  into  the  area,  the  inmates  all  rushed  out 
to  greet  and  welcome  us  ;  and  among  them  came  Mrs. 
Huntly  and  Madame  Mortimer,  almost  frantic  with  joy. 
At  first  we  were  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the  cause 
of  this  strong  ebullition  of  feeling  ;  but  we  did  not  long 
remain  in  ignorance;  for  the  next  moment,  descrying 
two  of  our  late  companions  in  the  crowd,' the  whole 
truth  flashed  upon  us.  ^ 

"Oh,  my  children!  my  children!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Huntly  ;  and  overcome  with  her  feelings,  she  could  only 
first  clasp  one  and  then  the  other  to  her  heart  in  silence. 

"  My  daughters  !  and  do  I  indeed  see  you  alive  again.''" 
cried  Madame  Mortimer,  pressing  Eva  and  Evaline  to  her 
panting  breast.  "  Oh  !  could  you  but  know  a  mother's 
agony  lor  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  during  which  she 
has  mourned  you  as  dead,  you  would  never  leave  her 
again  !" 

But  not  to  dwell  upon  this  affectionate  meeting,  it  will 
be  only  necessary  to  state,  that  two  of  the  party,  whom 
we  supposed  to  bre  dead,  had  escaped,  by  flying  from  the 
field  and  taking  refuge  on  the  ridge  to  the  north.  Here 
they  had  paused  for  a  few  minutes,  to  gaze  upon  the 
sublime  scene  of  the  burning  plain  ;  and  then,  believing 
all  but  themselves  had  perished,  they  had  made  the  best 
of  their  way  back  to  the  fort  and  so  reported.  No  won- 
der, then,  that  there  was  surprise  and  joy  on  beholding 
in  us  the  dead  alive— the  lost  found. 


HOME   AT  LAST, 


229 


The  second  day  following  our  return,  we  again  set 
out  on  our  homeward  journey,  in  company  with  a  small 
party  of  emigrants,  who  had  recently  crossed  over  the 
mountains  from  California. 

For  several  days  my  friends  and  myself  were  unusu- 
ally thoughtful  and  serious  ;  but  as  we  neared  the  con- 
fines of  civilization,  and  felt  we  were  about  to  quit  the 
wilderness,  with  all  its  hardships  and  perils,  to  mingle 
with  scenes  more  suited  to  our  tastes,  our  spirits  gradu- 
ally grew  buoyant  with  the  seemingly  unalloyed  happi- 
ness of  youthful  days. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  singular  feelings  we  experi- 
enced—I  speak  of  Huntly  and  myself— as  we  rode  into 
the  small  town  of  Independence,  Missouri,  and  recalled 
the  many  striking  events  of  the  long  period  which  had 
intervened  since  last  we  had  beheld  the  place.  Then, 
giddy  with  the  wildness  of  youth— alone— free  from  re- 
straint—with no  tie  stronger  than  the  filial  to  bind  us  to 
any  one  particular  spot— we  were  just  setting  forth  upon 
a  new  world  of  adventure  !  Now,  sobered  by  painful  ex- 
perience, and  in  company  with  those  we  loved,  we  were 
retracing  our  steps,  perfectly  satisfied  there  was  "no 
place  like  home,"  and  no  scenes  so  dear  to  us  as  those  of 
our  native  land.  We  had  seen  danger  in  every  form, 
suffered  all  that  we  could  suffer  and  live,  had  had  our 
souls  tried  by  the  sternest  tests,  been  miraculously  pre- 
served through  all,  been  blessed  beyond  our  deserts,  and 
now  felt  contented  to  leave  the  field  forever  to  such  as 
might  fancy  it,  and  retire  to  the  sweet  seclusion  of  domes- 
tic life. 

The  countenance  of  Evaline,  as  day  by  day  we  pro- 
gressed toward  the  East,  gradually  brightened  with  a 
sweeter  happiness  than  she  had  ever  known— the  happi- 
ness of  being  with  her  mother  and  sister— of  knowing 
she  was  not  a  nameless  being,  cast  astray  by  some  un- 
toward freak  of  fortune— of  feeling  she  loved  and  was 
in  turn  beloved.  She  was  now  entering  a  world  where 
everything,  opening  up  new  and  strange,  filled  her  with 
wonder,  excited  her  curiosity,  and  kept  her  in  a  continual 
state  of  pleased  excitement.  Eva  was  happy  in  the  com- 
pany of  one  who  could  appreciate  her  noble  qualities, 


230 


HOME   AT  LAST, 


and  lend  her  those  affectionate  and  tender  sympathies 
which  the  ardent  soul  ever  craves,  and  without  which  it 
languishes  and  droops  and  feels  there  is  a  depressing 
void  within.  Lilian  was  happy,  and  my  vanity  some- 
times whispered  me  of  a  reason  therefor.  In  sooth,  by 
the  time  we  reached  St,  Louis,  there  was  not  a  sad  heart 
in  the  party — unless,  in  a  reflective  mood,  a  dark  shadow 
from  the  past  might  chance  to  sweep  across  it  for  a  mo- 
ment—only, as  it  were,  to  make  it  seem  more  bright  in 
the  glorious  sunshine  of  the  present. 

With  what  emotions  of  wonder  and  joy  did  Evaline 
view  those  mighty  leviathans,  that,  by  the  genius  and 
mechanism  of  man,  are  made  to  ply  upon  the  mighty 
rivers  of  the  Great  West,  and  bear  him  on  his  journey 
as  he  passes  to  and  fro  to  all  portions  of  the  habitable 
globe  !  And  then  the  delight  we  all  felt,  as  we  glided 
down  the  turbid  waters  of  the  great  Mississippi,  and 
steered  up  the  beautiful  Ohio,  past  villages,  and  towns, 
and  cities,  where  the  pleasing  hum  of  civilization,  in 
every  breast  save  one,  awoke  sweet  memories  of  former 
days,  and  made  our  hearts  bound  with  pleasing  anticipa- 
tions of  what  was  yet  to  come. 

On,  on  we  swept  up  the  Ohio,  past  the  flourishing 
cities  of  Louisville  and  Cincinnati  (making  only  a  short 
stay  at  each),  to  that  of  Pittsburgh,  where  our  steamer 
was  exchanged  for  the  stage,  to  bear  us  over  the  roman- 
tic Alleghanies,  and  that  in  turn  for  the  rushing  car,  to 
land  us  in  Baltimore,  again  in  Philadelphia,  and  lastly 
in  that  great  emporium  of  the  Western  Continent,  New 
York.  And  so  on,  on— ever-changing,  continually  pro- 
gressing—toward the  golden  haven  of  our  desires— 
which,  Heaven  be  praised  !  we  at  last  reached  in  safety. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  journey,  my  feelings  be- 
came very  sad.  I  was  nearing  the  home  of  my  youth— 
the  abode  of  my  dearly-loved  parents— after  many  long 
years  of  painful  and  eventful  separation.  What  changes 
might  not  have  occurred  in  the  i^iterval  !— changes,  per- 
adventure,  to  rend  my  heart  with  anguish  !  My  parents 
—  my  affectionate  mother — my  kind  and  indulgent 
faiher— how  I  trembled  to  think  of  them  !    What  if,  as 


HOME   AT  LAST. 


231 


in  the  case  of  my  friends,  one  or  both  had  been  ca  led 
from  the  scenes  of  earth,  and  were  now  sleeping  their 
last  sleep  in  the  moldering  church-yard-never  to  bless 
me  more  with  the  soft  light  of  their  benign  eyes  !  Oh  ! 
what  a  heart-sickening  feeling,  of  almost  utter  desola- 
tion, the  very  thought  of  it  produced  !  until  I  forced  my- 
self  to  think  no  more,  lest  I  should  lack  physical  strength 
to  bear  me  on  to  the  knowledge  I  longed  yet  dreaded  to 

^^^Pressin^  invitations  from  us,  and  I  scarcely  need  add 
a  more  eloquent  persuasion  from  the  soft,  dark  eyes  of 
another,  had  induced  Elmer  Fitzgerald  to  extend  his 
iourney  a  few  hundred  miles  beyond  his  original  inten- 
tion Arrived  in  the  city,  we  all  took  rooms  at  a  hotel, 
until  such  time  as  we  could  notify  our  friends  ot  our 
presence— or  rather,  until  I  could  see  my  parents,  it  liv- 
ing, in  advance  of  the  others.  t  u  -^^ 
With  a  heart  palpitating  with  hope  and  fear,  I  hurried 
into  a  carriage,  and,  ordering  the  driver  not  to  spare  his 
horses,  leaned  back  on  my  seat,  and  gave  myself  up  to 
the  most  intense  and  painful  meditations-occasional  y 
listening  to  the  rumbling  of  the  swift  whirling  wheels, 
and  woiidering  when  they  would  cease  their  motion  at 
their  present  destination— or  gazing  from  the  window  at 
the  thousand  objects  flitting  past  me,  with  that  vague 
look  of  the  occupied  mind  which  takes  in  each  thing  dis- 
tinctly and  yet  seems  to  see  nothing  whatever 

"  Crack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels,  and 
'  on  we  sped  at  the  same  rapid  pace.  At  length  my  atten- 
tion was  arrested  by  objects  familiar  from  my  boyhood, 
and  my  heart  seemed  to  creep  to  my  throat,  for  I  knew  i 
was  close  upon  the  mansion  of  my  father.  A  few  mo- 
ments of  breathless  suspense,  and  the  carriage  stopped  ^ 
suddenly,  the  door  swung  open,  and,  leaping  out,  i 
rushed  up  the  steps,  trembling  in  every  limb.  ^ 

Two  minutes  later,  unannounced,  1  stood  in  tlie  pres- 
ence of  mv  parents,  but  saw  I  was  not  recognized. 

"  Mother  !  father  !"  I  cried ;  "  have  you  forgotten  your 

Ions:  absent  son  ?"   '  ,  ,       .    r  1 

There  was  a  brief  moment  of  speechless,  joyful  amaze- 


THE    CLOSING  SCENES. 


ment,  and  the  next  I  was  in  my  mother's  arms,  while  my 
father  stood  by,  pressing  my  hand  and  weeping  like  a 
child. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  CLOSING  SCENES. 

EADER  !  I  am  about  to  close— about  to  present 
to  you  the  last  scene  of  scenes  I  shall  ever  give 
of  this  my  drama  of  life.  I  am  about  to  bid 
you  farewell,  perchance  forever.  May  I  not 
trust  we  part  as  friends  ? — as  boon  companions, 
who  have  together  made  a  long  pilgrimage,  with  an  ever 
cordial  attachment  and  friendly  understanding?  From 
the  land  of  my  nativity  you  have  followed  me  through  a 
period  of  years,  over  the  wilderness  of  the  far,  Far  West, 
back  again  to  my  native  land.  You  have  seen  me  in 
prosperity  and  adversity— in  sickness  and  health — in 
moments  of  ease  and  safety— in  moments  of  hardship  and 
peril — in  the  calmness  of  quiet  meditation,  and  amid  the 
turmoil,  and  strife,  and  din  of  battle.  From  first  to  last 
I  have  been  ever  present  to  you— made  you  my  confidant 
—laid  bare  to  your  gaze  the  secret  workings  of  my  ar- 
dent spirit.  May  I  not  trust  I  have  had  your  sympathy  ? 
that  you  have  felt  an  interest  in  my  fate  ?  and  also  in 
the  fate  of  those  with  whom  my  fortune  has  been  so 
closely  connected?  Yes  !  I  will  trust  we  part  as  friends 
—that  when  you  have  perused  the  last  page  of  this,  my 
humble  scroll,  you  will  not  cast  it  aside  as  altogether 
worthless— that  you  will  long  after  spare  me  and  my 
friends  a  single  thought  of  pleasing  remembrance.  I 
can  not  see  you — can  not  hear  your  answer — and  yet 
something  whispers  me  it  is  as  I  desire — that  we  shall  not 
separate  but  with  mutual  regrets.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the 
farewell  must  be  said— the  solemn  farewell  ; 


THE  CLOSING  SCENES. 


233 


*'  That  word  which  must  be  and  hath  been — 
That  sound  which  makes  us  linger." 

^  4c  4tr  4:  ^  4: 

It  was  a  brilliant  scene.  In  a  large  saloon,  made 
gorgeous  with  all  the  luxuries  wealth  could  procure 
from  all  parts  of  the  habitable  globe — with  soft  carpets 
from  Turkey,  antique  vases  from  China,  old  paintings 
from  Germany,  and  statues  from  Florence — with  long 
mirrors,  that  doubled  the  splendors  of  the  scene — with 
chairs,  and  sofas,  and  ottomans,  covered  with  the  softest 
and  most  costly  of  velvets — with  everything,  in  short,  to 
please,  dazzle,  and  fascinate  the  eye — over  which  streamed 
a  soft,  bewitching,  alabaster  light — where  strains  ol 
melodious  music  stole  sweetly  upon  the  enraptured  sense 
of  the  hearer  :  in  such  a  gorgeous  apartment  as  this,  I 
say,  were  collected  bright  faces,  sparkling  eyes,  snowy 
arms,  and  lovely  forms— set  off  with  vestures  of  the  rich- 
est, costliest  and  most  fashionable  make — adorned  with 
jewels  of  diamond,  and  ruby,'and  pearl,  and  sapphire  :  in 
such  a  place  as  this — in  the  mansion  of  my  father — were 
assembled  the  elite  of  Boston,  to  witness  the  nuptials  of 
Evaline  and  Charles,  Eva  and  Elmer,  Lilian  and  myself: 

Need  I  dwell  upon  the  scene  ?  Need  I  say  it  was  as 
happy  as  gorgeous  ?  Need  I  add,  that  the  fair  maidens, 
led  to  the  altar,  looked  more  sweet  and  lovely  than  any 
had  ever  before  seen  them?  No  !  it  is  unnecessary  for 
me  to  enter  into  detail  here,  for  the  quick  perception  of 
the  reader  will  divine  all  I  would  say.  Enough,  that  the 
rough  scenes  of  the  wilderness,  through  which  we  had 
passed,  could  not  be  more  strongly  contrasted  than  on 
this  never-to-be-forgotten  occasion  of  unalloyed  happi- 
ness. 

The  solemn  nuptial  rite  was  followed  with  congrat- 
ulations— with  music,  dancing,  and  festivities — and  it 
was  long  past  the  noon  of  night  ere  the  well-pleased 
guests  departed,  and  a  small  circle  of  happy  friends  were 
left  to  themselves. 

When  all  had  at'  last  become  quiet,  and  none  were 


234 


THE  CLOSING  SCENES. 


present  but  the  newly-married  and  their  nearest  and 
dearest  relatives  : 

''Now,"  said  Madame  Mortimer,  with  a  smile,  "to 
add  pleasure  to  pleasure — to  make  the  happy  happier — 
I  have  a  joyful  surprise  for  you  all." 

"Permit  me  to  doubt,"  said  I,  "if  aught  any  one  can 
say,  can  in  any  degree  add  to  the  happiness  of  those  here 
present.    I  look  upon  the  thing  as  impossible." 

"  And  yet,"  pursued  the  other,  smiling  arcl^ly,  "would 
it  not  add  pleasure  even  to  you,  Francis,  were  I  to  tell 
you  that  a  dark  mystery  has  been  cleared  up,  and  a  wrong 
matter  set  right  ?" 

"  What  mean  you  ?"  asked  I,  while  the  rest  turned  to 
her  with  eager  curiosity. 

"  What  would  you  think  should  I  now  proceed  to 
prove  to  you,  my  friends,  that  the  person  you  have  long 
known  as  Madame  Mortimer,  is  from  this  time  forth  to 
be  known  as  the  Marchioness  of  Lombardy  ?" 

"How?  what?  speak!"  exclaimed  one  and  all  in  a 
breath. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  friends,  such  is  the  fact.  Since  my 
return,  I  have  received  letters  from  England  and  France, 
stating  that  my  late  husband — for  he  is  now  dead — was 
none  other  than  the  Marquis  of  Lombardy,  who  was 
banished  from  France  for  some  state  intrigue,  and  aftei"- 
ward  restored  to  favor.  Fearing,  before  his  death,  that 
some  future  revolution  might  again  endanger  his  prop- 
erty, he  managed  to  dispose  of  sufficient  to  purchase  a 
large  estate  in  England,  which  he  has  generously  be- 
queathed to  me  and  my  heirs  forever.  Accompanying 
his  will,  which  I  have  now  in  my  possession,  is  a  long 
letter,  in  which  he  asks  forgiveness  for  the  wrong  he  had 
formerly  done  me  in  separation  ;  and  wherein  he  states,  as 
a  reason  for  never  mentioning  his  title,  that  at  some 
future  time  he  had  designed  taking  me  by  surprise  ;  but 
that  the  news  of  the  restoration  of  himself  and  fortune, 
coming  at  a  moment  when  his  worst  passions  were  ex- 
cited, he  had  left  me  in  an  abrupt  manner,  taking  Eva- 
line  with  him — who,  he  sorrow^fuUy  adds,  was  afterward 
lost  or  murdered  ;  that  of  this  foul  deed  he  had  always 
suspected  a  near  relation  of  his— a  villain  who  brought 


THE    CLOSING  SCENES. 


235 


him  the  intelligence  of  his  fortune  being  restored — a,nd 
that  in  consequence  he  had  taken  what  precautions  he 
could,  to  put  his  property,  in  case  of  his  sudden  decease, 
entirely  beyond  the  other's  reach.  This,  my  friends,  is 
all  I  will  tell  you  to-night  ;  but  to-morrow  you  shall 
have  proofs  of  all  I  have  said.  And  now,  my  daughters, 
that  you  are  happily  wedded,  I  give  you  this  estate  as  a 
marriage  portion." 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  emotions  of  joyful  surprise 
which  this  revelation  excited  in  the  hearts  of  those  who 
heard  it.  Suffice  that  it  did  add  pleasure  to  pleasure — 
that  it  did  make  the  happy  happier.  m 

A  sentence  more  and  I  have  done,  ^e  words  of 
the  Marchioness  of  Lombard/  were  subsequently  veri- 
fied in  every  particular;  and  Charles  Huntly  and  Elmer 
Fitzgerald  have  had  no  cause,  thus  far,  even  in  a  pecu- 
niary point  of  view,  to  regret  the  choice  they  made  in  the 
Avilderness  of  the  Far  West.  Propitious  fortune  now 
smiles  upon  all,  and  all  are  happy. 

Thus  is  it  ever.  To-day  we  rise— to-morrow  fall — 
to  rise  again  perchance  in  the  further  time  to  come. 
Prosperity  and  adversity  are  ever  so  closely  linked  that 
the  most  trivial  event  may  make  or  mar  our  happiness. 
The  Past  we  know — the  Present  we  see — but  who  shall 
say  aught  of  the  Future  ? 


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IjC  Reve.    By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana."    Cheap  edition,  paper  cover,  2^  cents. 

Nana!  The  Sequel  to  "L'Assommoir."  Nana!  By  Emile  Zola.  With  a  Picture  o/ 
"Nana"  on  the  cover.    Paper  cover,  75  cents ;  Cloth,  ^i.oo.     Cheap  edition,  paper  cover,  25  cents. 

Ija  Terre.  {The  Soil.)  By  Emile  Zola,  sMXhor  oi" Nana."  This  new  book  by  Zola  is  ci-eating 
a  great  sensation.    Paper  cover,  75  cents;  Cloth,  ^1.25.     Cheap  edition,  paper  cover,  23  cents. 

I/A!<iSOininoir ;  or,  Nana's  Mother.  By  Emile  Zola.  With  a  Picture  of  Nana' s 
mother  on  the  cover.    Paper  cover,  75  cents  ;  Cloth,  ^i. 00.    Cheap  edition, papen>cover,  2J cents. 

Nana's  l>ang-hter.  A  Continuation  of  and  Sequel  to  Emile  Zola's  Great  Realistic  Novel  of 
"Nana."    Paper  cover,  75  cents  ;  Cloth,  ;^i.oo.    Cheap  edition,  paper  cover,  2^  cents. 

The  Oirl  in  Scarlet;  or.  The  liOves  of  Silvere  and  Miette.  By  Emile  Zola, 
author  of  "Nana."    Paper  cover,  75  cents  ;  Cloth,  ^1.25.    Cheap  edition ,  paper  cover,  25  cents. 

The  Jolly  Parisiennes.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana"  and  "  L'  Assommoir ,"  "The 
Gir-l  in  Scarlet,"  etc.    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  $1.25  in  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold. 

H^lftne.  A  Tale  of  Love  and  Passion.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  oi" Nana,"  " L' Assotnmoir," 
etc.    Paper,  75  cents  ;  Cloth,  ^1.25.    Cheap  edition,  paper  cover ,  23  cents. 

The  ^Flower  and  Market  Oirl»i  of  Paris.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana" 
and  "L'Assomittoir."    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  ^1.25  in  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold. 

The  Flower  <5in"!s  of  Marseilles.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana,"  " U Assommoir  " 
"  The  Girl  in  Scarlet,"  etc.    Paper  cover,  75  cents,  or  $1.25  in  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold. 

Christine,  d;he  Model;  or  Studies  of  Iiove.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana" 
and  " L' Assommoir."    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  $1.25  in  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold. 

The  Shop  Grirls  of  Paris,  virith  their  Life  and  Experiences  in  a  Large  Dry  Goods  Store. 
By  Emile  Zola,  author  oi" Nana."    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  ^1.25  in  Cloth. 

The  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  liouis  Napoleon.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  of 
"Nana  "  and  "L'Assommoir."    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  |5i.25  in  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold, 

Ren^e ;  or.  In  the  Whirlpool.  By  Emile  Zola.  With  a  Portrait  0/ Renee  on  the  cover. 
Zola's  New  Play  of  "  Renee"  was  dramatized  from  this  book.    Paper,  75  cents  ;  Cloth,  $1.25. 

Nana's  Brother.  The  Son  of  "  Gervaise  "  and  "Lantier"  of  "L'Assommoir."  By 
Emile  Zola.    Paper  cover,  75  cents  ;  Cloth,  $1.25.     Cheap  edition,  paper  cover,  25  cents, 

A  Mad  liOve;  or.  The  Abbe  and  His  Court.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana" 
and  "L' Assommoir."    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  $1.25  in  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold. 

Claude's  Confession.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana,"  "L'Assommoir,"  "Pot- 
Bouille,"  "  The  Girl  in  Scarlet,"  etc.  Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  $\.-zs  in  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold. 

Pot-Bouille.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana,"  "L'Assommoir,"  etc.  With  an  Illustrated 
Cover.    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  $1.25  in  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold. 

Albine ;  or.  The  Abbe's  Temptation.  By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana  "  and  "L'As- 
soimnoir."    Paper  cover,  75  cents  ;  Cloth,  $1.25.    Cheap  edition,  paper  cover,  25  cents. 

The  Joys  of  liife.    By  Emile  Zola,  author  of  "Nana."    Paper,  75  cents;  Cloth,  ^1.25. 
Her  Two  Husbands.     By  Emile  Zola.    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  I1.25  in  Cloth. 
Mag-dalen  Ferat.    By  Emile  Zola.    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  $1.25  in  Cloth. 
Th^rfese  Raquin.    By  Etnile  Zola.    Price  75  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  ^1.25  in  Cloth. 

Petersons'  American  Translations  of  Emile  Zola's  works  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  and 
at  all  News  Stands  everywhere ,  or  copies  of  any  one  book,  or  more  of  them,  will  be  sent  to  any  one, 
to  any  place,  at  once,  post-paid,  on  remitt  ing  the  price  of  the  ones  wanted  in  a  letter  to  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSOIS^  &  BROTHERS,  Philadelphia,  Pa, 


'7  consider  'Self -Raised '  and  'Ishmael '  to  be  my  two  very 
best  books/' — Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth. 

Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth's  Last  and  Best  Book. 


IRS.  SOnTHWORTfl'S  &REAT  "NEW  YORK  LEDGER"  STORY. 

SELF-RAISED 

OR,  FROM  THE  DEPTHS. 

BY  MRS.  EMMA  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 

Being  Mrs.  Southworth' s  Great  "New  York  Ledger"  Story, 
ONE  VOLUME,  MOROCCO  CLOTH.— PRICE  $L50. 

MBS.  EMMA  D,  E.  N,  SOUTHWOItTWS  COMPLETE 
WORKS,  An  entire  new  edition  has  just  been  published,  in  duodecimo  form, 
printed  on  fine  paper,  co??tplete  in  forty-three  volumes,  by  T.  B.  Peterson  <Sf  Brothers, 
Philadelphia.  They  are  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  library  style,  with  a  full  gilt  back,  and 
sold  by  all  Booksellers,  everywhere,  at  the  low  price  of  $\.^o  each,  or  ^64.50  for  a  com- 
plete set.    Send  for  a  complete  list  of  them,  which  will  be  sent  free  on  application. 

j^^^This  edition  contciins  a  neiv  Portrait  of  Mrs.  Southworth,  and  her  Autography 
also  a  vieiv  of  her  beautiful  Home  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac,  both  engraved  on  steel. 

'^^^ Mrs.  Southworth'' s  books  have  great  originality,  fine  descriptions,  startling 
incidents,  scenes  of  pathos,  are  of  pure  moral  tone,  and  should  be  read  by  everybody. 

!g^^Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth  is  acknowledged  to  be  the  greatest  of  all  Amer- 
ican female  writers,  and  a  set  of  her  books  should  be  in  every  home  and  in  every  library. 

Copies  of  ''SELF-RAISED ;  or,  FROM  THE  DEPTHS;'  Mrs.  South- 
worth's  great  work,  or  any  one  or  mote  of  "-Mrs.  Sotithzuort/i' s  Works,''  or  a  co7nplete 
set  of ''Mrs.  Southworth'' s  Works,"  bound  in  inorocco  cloth,  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  to  any 
address,  at  once,  free  of  freight  or  postage,  on  reinitting  $l  .^o  for  each  book  wanted, 
to  the  Publishers,  T.  B.  Peterson  &'  Brothers,  306  CJustnui  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

^^Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth''  s  books  will  be  found  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers 
and  News  Agents  everywhere.    Canvassers  wanted  everywhere  to  engage  in  their  sale. 

'^^^ Booksellers,  Neivs  Agents  and  Canvassers  will  be  supplied  with  them  at  very  low 
rates,  and  they  will  please  send  in  their  orders  at  once  to  the  publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Philadelphia,  Pa., 

and  they  will  receive  immediate  and  prompt  attention. 


